"At the end of 1980, Glenn Branca had a tour booked so I quit my day job to go on it, so on the one level it was kind of this fulfillment – ‘wow I’m actually going to go on a fucking rock & roll tour, how great is this?’ And I think it was the end of me having day jobs in New York, which was kind of also an amazing thing to think about. The first tour was in the US and it was wrapped up in all this kind of weird stuff. We were on the West Coast when Lennon was shot. He was one of my great early heroes and one of the reasons why I was involved in any of this stuff to begin with, and he gets shot while I’m on my first rock & roll tour. It felt kind of heavy in a certain way. A few months later we went to Europe and when we played Berlin, Neubauten was the opening act and it was their second ever gig. So I got to see them at the very beginning and meet all those guys. Sheet metal music on cymbal stands - they were really just putting it together at that point, their music also progressed really fast in the early period, but this was just an early primitive version of what they were doing. I met all of those guys, Mufti and Blixa and Alexander and Alex and I some German relatives so I had an affinity with Germany to begin with, and we became friends right away, so I’ve known them since the early 80s, when they really started doing their thing it was this parallel rise to what Sonic Youth was doing. We came out of New York, out of the stuff that was coming out of New York and Black Flag and Minutemen the West Coast stuff, but at the same time all this stuff that was going on in England – the Birthday Party, was there at that point and we had met them, and in that same early period Lydia Lunch had taken us to one of the last Birthday Party shows in New York and we met Nick, Rowland (S. Howard), Mick Harvey and all those guys. Shortly after that when Sonic Youth first started coming to England, the Bad Seeds wanted Sonic Youth to be their opening act. Those early Neubauten records were just so impressive in what they were doing because again Blixa comes out of all this Germanic Berthold Brecht art music as well as this extreme stuff, and they took their extremism to welding torches and grinders on stage. It’s all music on a certain level, didn’t John Cage teach us that, or Stockhausen or Varèse? What Neubauten was doing was really coming out of this same climate of ‘we’ve got electric guitars on stage but we’ve also got noise-makers that could tie our music back to futurist music of the 20s’. I think the really dominant thing about all these groups from that period was that these were no longer kids that grew up in middle America that heard rock & roll and put a band together in their garage after high school and just went out and did their thing, these were all people that were arts educated and went to university and were steeped into 20th century art making practice whether it was music, or visual art or experimental theatre. For me I grew up with pop music on the radio in the kitchen of my house every morning before school, there was an AM radio blasting the latest 7” singles, you couldn’t get away from it, but at the same time I got educated in all this other stuff so all these people wanted to combine this stuff, they didn’t want to leave their education behind and pretend they were ruffians in the garage that were uneducated and idiots savants – kind of like the Stooges were a real version of that, although I couldn’t say enough about Iggy and his smartness. When Neubauten was doing that stuff it wasn’t tongue in cheek but it was marshalling a lot of different influences, not just simple pop influences. This is some of the most remarkable music ever, and the shows they put on, they were dangerous in an extreme way with sparks flying off the stage. Sonic Youth played this famous show in the Mojave Desert in 1984, and Neubauten did one in the same series, within 4 or 5 months of our show. We had a lot of early symbiotic relationships with all those groups."

"I almost forgot about this one. It’s funny how easy it is to miss the things right in front of you, but this record, more than any other, is the most loved record of my life. I know it’s a compilation, not a proper album, etc, but all LPs are compilations of sorts and many of the songs on here didn't appear on LPs. Also, the LPs of that early era were stuffed full of covers that could have been played by anyone, so this is the most representative.
 
I’ve listened to it as a record all my life. The copy I picture right now is the copy that was in the flip-down compartment of my parents’ Grundig stereogram that they got as a wedding present. Like Angel Delight, the Ford Cortina, G-Plan furniture or Clark’s shoes, this LP was a ubiquitous object of their generation: a part of everyone’s life. That’s what it was to me as a kid – part of my life. It was my first taste of music, before I could speak, before I could describe what I was listening to. It’s still with me and I will always listen to it until I’m dead. It is part of life.
 
The context around this music has changed for me. When I was a toddler I had no idea how it came into existence. It was just there. Then I realised it was people who made it. Then I idolised them. Then I reckoned Lennon was probably a prick. Then I realised he was just a guy who wrote good songs, but became too rich and famous for his mental health.
 
I picked this rather than one of this band’s famous albums, even though each has such a strong identity, as it means so much to me. I know there are complexities of ideas, ground-breaking experimentation, revolutionary themes and era-defining moments elsewhere, but this is what defined me. It’s also their best period. It starts with 'Please Please Me'. It ends with 'Paperback Writer'. That’s The Beatles for me. Well, my Beatles. Well, The Beatles on the front cover. There’s that other band peering through their moustaches and beards from the back cover with the same name. Yeah, I love that band too, but not in the same way. The Red Album is the purest record ever made. I don’t know what it is – rock & roll, rock, pop, faux classical… I don’t care. I know the context, I know what it is and I know that nothing has ever or will ever be as great, just as I did when I was a toddler."

"I first heard the record in Joe's [Goddard, Hot Chip] house, and I think we would have been about 16 or something. He'd been told about Palace by Kieran [Hebden, Four Tet], and we would all go to the Beggar's Banquet record shop in Putney after school, and buy and listen to things in there. We'd buy hip-hop, different indie records and pop albums. It was particularly good for hip-hop, and these lo-fi indie rock records. That's where we bought the album, and we were in Joe's room where we would work on Hot Chip recordings, and it sounded so different to anything I'd ever heard before, because it's so slow-paced. Will Oldham's voice is so unusual when you hear it, and particularly at that time before he'd developed into being slightly more well-known, his voice was particularly eccentric - it cracks in some interesting ways; it's not a formally trained voice - over that sparse piano and drum machine backing. The song that I first heard was 'You Have Cum In Your Hair And Your Dick Is Hanging Out' - a memorable title! The song doesn't have those words in it. It's just a beautiful heartbreaking ballad, and it's hard to know sometimes what that dense lyrical terrain is all about with Will Oldham. Some of the symbolism is quite hard to read, but it makes an emotional impact straight away. It took me a long time to get to know that record. I bought my own copy in Lancaster when I went to visit a friend at university, and I just kept going back to it. Each time there would be another song that I would get to know and love. I had a long car journey with all of Hot Chip, and some friends of ours from a festival recently, and we listened to the record, and it was another breakthrough where it became more meaningful to me."

"I didn't know much about Sly and I'd only heard the two hits that he'd had, which were 'Everyday People', which I loved because of that bass line which goes all the way through without changing once, and 'Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin)', and I loved them but I didn't think that much of them. Then one evening in 1971 I was round the house of this bunch of London musos who I'd kind of fallen in with and they were all sort of jazz-influenced people. They used to smoke a lot of grass. I didn't, but the room was full of enough stuff to probably affect me. They were all talking about this album and how it set the scene for something totally new, and I was interested because they were the very serious people who were into Coltrane and Charlie Parker, yet this was a pop record. It's so sketchy, the whole thing, it hardly holds together. It's like little flicks of paint. Instead of an organised composition, it's just people throwing in these little touches and somehow it coheres. It's like the first time I saw a Jackson Pollock or something. Another interesting thing about this is I had just started experimenting with rhythm boxes, which were considered completely beyond the pale by most musicians. They had like six rhythms on: bossa nova, Latin, rock & roll... something like that, and they had these terrible sounds [mimics rhythm box] but I really liked them and I was starting to write things over them, and everyone was asking me, ""Well, you'll replace that, won't you?"" and I said, ""Actually, I don't think I will."" Then I heard this (first track, 'In Time'), where one is playing alongside Andy Newmark, one of the great drummers of all time. But there's nothing really holding it together except the rhythm box."