"This is another one of those throw-the-gauntlet-down albums. We’d just recorded Underworld mk I’s second album and we were touring Australia and coming to the end of wanting to be a rocky, poppy, funky group. We’d heard acid house on the radio and we wanted to do it and being stuck in that group felt like a life sentence. Our manager sent us a tape of Talk Talk’s Spirit Of Eden and said, "this is what you call brave." And we knew Talk Talk because our mate Tim Pope did all their videos, but this was unlike anything they’d ever done before. We were driving through the outback and listening to it on the radio and the driver – who was a geezer from up north – kept saying, "this is bloody shit", and we said, "you either shut up or you get out and walk." We thought it was genius and it made us want to give up. It’s mostly deconstructed music. Tim had told us about all these strange recordings they were making and that they’d veered off course from what everyone expected them to do. It almost sounds like they made the record and then took great chunks of music off it. It’s beautiful. It’s all about the sound of the instruments. It’s like a cleaner version of the Burial album; they could almost be the same thing. Spirit Of Eden travels with me everywhere. After we’ve had a particularly loud and banging concert I’ll get in my bunk and I’ll put this on. It’s the antithesis of Underworld."

"It’s virtually impossible to find their early records. This particular record – their first album – I’ve tried to play on radio shows before, but it’s difficult because the language that they use is banned on radio. They use words that were then commonplace to describe their brothers and sisters, but are now not seen in the same way. Words that were in common usage in the sixties and now are not and for very good reason. But then they carried a very different potency. The thing I love about The Last Poets is that they are very direct, they pull no punches, they’re speaking to their community in way that Gil Scott-Heron did a lot. He also wasn’t afraid to say exactly how he felt about how his community was living. And The Last Poets did that too, with rhythmical words set to a very simple beat, in this case played on congas. One of their later albums even had Jimi Hendrix on it, and Buddy Miles. But this is the rawest, just a group of voices. They were the forerunners of rap. Using voices in unison to underline phrases and to make certain phrases more forceful, and all of this to an infectious groove. That’s all of what I love about rap music and urban poetry. It became part of what Underworld assimilated in our eclectic nature. The Last Poets throw the gauntlet down. If you want to write about the urban condition, there’s your benchmark. I can’t come close."

"“In 1985, I was 15 and Psychocandy came out. With all the records I’ve mentioned so far, there’s not much there that you would call extreme, except for Tomorrow Never Knows, maybe… but into that regular world came this absolutely mental record! “The first time I heard it was when Muriel Gray played a track on Radio 1, and I remember her introducing it and saying, ‘This is going to divide the listeners!’ It’s hard to overstate the effect that record had. It really did shatter everything! “Sound-wise, it was so relentlessly extreme - for 40 minutes - and it was just a brilliant piece of production as well. As soon as I heard them, it was one of those eureka moments.”"

"The very first Small Faces record was one of my favourites, with 'E Too D', 'Shake', 'Sha La La La Lee' and 'Whatcha Gonna Do About It?' That's one of the best records ever. I never saw the Small Faces, but they got on the radio. 'Shake' was the song – simple, three chords, but it sounded like everything was going on. It was a record that wasn't live, but sounded live to me. It's a great party record - a little dated now, but it is 50 years old. They sounded like they were having so much fun. I like records that sound like the band are having fun; mistakes never bothered me. The idea of mod didn't matter to me - they were just a British Invasion band."

"That song came out in 1967, but I don’t care when you it it, it still doesn’t sound dated. It’s always current. You just can’t beat it. All singers aspired to be Sam. He was a beautiful man. Very charming, engaging – a great artist with a whole lotta personality. It was thrilling for me – and every other woman – to be in the room with him. When I first heard ‘You Send Me,’ I was driving down South, traveling with my dad, doing services in various city auditoriums and arenas [Franklin would have been about 15]. My sister Erma and I were in the car, and when that came on the radio, we had to stop. It was pandemonium. We got out of the car, and we were just running around the car, screaming, ‘Sam was on! Sam was on! Sam is on the radio! Listen to this song!’ And we were just having one fit on the highway. We were just thrilled, because he had just left the gospel field. That was the first time hearing what he did after he leaving it. So it was super exciting for us. Sam was what you call a singer’s singer. My dad used to tell me not to copy him, that I had a voice. He stopped that early on, and he was absolutely right. As a performer, he was very simplistic. He didn’t do a lot of running around on the stage, and because he knew he didn’t have to. He had a voice, and he didn’t have to do anything but stand in one place and wipe you out."