"The ones that define metal to me? It all goes back to Motorhead and No Sleep Till Hammersmith. That was the epitome of balls-out, letting-it-go rifforama. But when it comes to classic heavy metal, Judas Priest’s Sad Wings Of Destiny is definitely one of the all-time great opuses. Hearing Glenn Tipton and K.K. Downing’s unison guitar playing and hearing Rob Halford let rip… who sings like that? Nobody. I was so entranced by that band and everything about them, that I went to a hat store and bought a Fedora because Glenn Tipton was wearing one on the back of Sad Wings… I have curly hair so hats don’t stay on so well. It didn’t last very long (laughs)"

"I’m still trying to learn the pickpocket techniques demonstrated in this Sam Fuller classic. It was my introduction to film noir—a late-night-TV memory that wouldn’t let me go back to sleep. I am still trying to be as brave and cocky as Thelma Ritter, or as wanton as Jean Peters in the clutch—“Sometimes you look for oil, you hit a gusher.” And if I ever have as satisfying a bowl of chow fun as they do in South Street’s Chinatown . . . I’ll die happy. This is supposed to be a little McCarthy-era rant against the Reds, but it’s really about “civilians” versus the lumpenproletariat, artists on the game, loyal to a code that the squares will never understand."