"I just knew that this was a classic as soon as I heard it. If I'm going to be really hyper-critical of it, then it's about three songs off from bring a true classic but there are so many great songs on there. It just felt like the first record I'd heard for a long time - maybe since Figure 8 by Elliot Smith - which is a really complete classic album. You know, I was thinking that this was a record that should've been there when I raided my uncle's record collection when I was 13, alongside Neil Young and Patti Smith and JJ Cale and Sex Pistols and The Trials Of Van Occupanther is one of those. That's the highest praise that I can give it; that it should sit amongst those greats. What an amazing record with a really amazing sound. Tim Smith's voice is brilliant to listen to and lyrically it's such an emotive record. You really hear the visual setting that the music is set against and that just pours off the record and out of the grooves. I loved it from the first minute I heard it. And there's something about the aesthetics of it that I really connected with. Technically, I love the bass sound and the sound of the snare and we in Supergrass really gravitated towards that. It's like the first time you hear that snare sound on Air's Moon Safari and we were like: 'That's the snare sound that we really love too!' You know, when you're in a band you look around at other bands. We listened a lot to Elliott Smith when we made Road To Rouen and when you have that connection, then it takes the album to a whole different level. That's what we all felt with the Midlake record, and me and my brother Charlie definitely rate it in the top five records of the last ten or fifteen years."

"There is something faintly off-putting about this book’s subtitle. We live in a world where the obsession with music’s past threatens to overwhelm its present, where the only music magazines that sell in any quantity deal in heritage rock, where virtually the only TV coverage of music comes via retrospective documentaries: the story of modern pop has been told and retold until it’s been reduced to a series of tired anecdotes and over-familiar landmarks. But Yeah Yeah Yeah’s brilliance lies in the personal, idiosyncratic route Bob Stanley takes through the past: for him, the modern pop era begins not with Elvis or “Rock Around the Clock”, but the release of Johnnie Ray’s 1954 album Live at the London Palladium, the first time a screaming teenage audience had been heard on record in the UK. He devotes more space to 1970 one-hit wonders Edison Lighthouse than to Led Zeppelin, delivers a withering verdict on some surprising sacred cows – Joni Mitchell, Patti Smith, Steely Dan – and is great at unearthing a forgotten quote that challenges what you might call the authorised version of events: at the height of the 1967’s Summer of Love, he finds the Who’s Pete Townshend not boggling at the new frontiers mapped out by psychedelia, but grumpily complaining that “people aren’t jiving in the listening boxes in record shops any more like we did to a Cliff Richard ‘newie’”. Stanley has a way of tackling well-worn topics – not least the Beatles – from unlikely angles, and of talking about artists you’ve never heard of with a contagious enthusiasm that makes hearing them seem like a matter of urgency. Best of all, he makes you laugh out loud while getting directly to the heart of the matter. The lugubrious late 70s output of Pink Floyd sounds like music made by people “who hated being themselves”. The punk-era Elvis Costello sang “like he was standing in a fridge”, and the experience of listening to novelty ska revivalists Bad Manners is “like being on a waltzer when you’ve had three pints and desperately need the toilet”. If you’ve ever heard them, you’ll know exactly what he means."