"The track that I'm obsessed with at the moment is a song called 'Blue and Yellow Light' by The Duke Spirit. I never really heard much of The Duke Spirit that's really done it for me before, but this new song's amazing. I'm really excited about the album which is out that's called KIN."

"Once the Seattle scene exploded and the band names became living-room buzzwords, Dinosaur Jr. got a modicum of recognition. They deserve a little more. If there is such a thing left as the avant-garde – as you know, all of the foreboding walls of the forbidden zone have been removed – it seems to me that Dinosaur Jr. have a bit of an edge. Nirvana was everywhere you went at that time. I was living in Laguna Beach. Some friends stopped in for a visit and we wound up on Balboa Island. To get to the other side there were two routes: the roundabout way, or a small five-car ferry that makes the short hop across. I remember waiting in line to board the ferry and some cute young barefooted hippie chick walked up to the car window and, out of the clear blue, gazed in with a smile and said, ""It smells like teen spirit in here."" I was going, wow. Okay.
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"This song is very blue, it makes me cry a lot. The bass line is very heavy. It's like facing yourself, facing your problems and your issues: Who are you? What are you looking for? What would you like to achieve? This is song is very important to me. I still listen to it, when I'm not feeling good. 'Wari' means 'money'. When you make money, you can really forget your past. You can forget your mum, you can forget your father. You can become someone else. The lyrics are very deep. It's advising you: money is good but never forget where you come from, never forget your soul, never forget your spirit, your family. Be yourself.
 Women are used to talking about society, children, our husbands, emancipation, money. They teach you to be humble, to go back to your roots. Never be somebody else, fight to be yourself. It's a good message for what we're doing, always being in a different hotel, taking the plane everyday. I needed those women."

" Oswald is probably best known for her last book, “Memorial,” an extraordinarily free reinterpretation of the Iliad. (At public readings of “Memorial,” she recites it from memory, in homage to the orality of the original. I was lucky enough to witness this in London. The effect is rhapsodic, spellbinding.) Oswald does indeed have a classical power: she’s at once a grand elegist and a close celebrant of life, a rhetorician and a playful contemporary—a writer who can describe Hector dying in battle but can also depict how he “used to nip home deafened by weapons / To stand in full armour by the doorway / Like a man rushing in leaving his motorbike running.” At the heart of her new book is a long poem titled “Tithonus,” after one of Eos’s lovers from Greek mythology. It is a minutely detailed, ravishing, and rapturously observant account of the English countryside waking up at dawn—what Oswald calls “46 Minutes in the Life of the Dawn.” Slowly, the light builds and the stars disappear and the woods awaken to the birds: “as soon as dawn one star then / suddenly none then blue then pale / and the whole apparition only / ever known backwards already too / late now almost gone.” I’m sometimes reminded of Gerard Manley Hopkins and Edward Thomas, but the tutelary spirit seems to be Virginia Woolf’s “The Waves,” and that novel’s patient italicized passages (written from the point of view of the author) about sunlight building and spreading across the English landscape. (“The day waves yellow with all its crops” is one of my very favorite sentences from Woolf’s novel, and one that Oswald might easily have written herself.) This poet is, for me, a perpetual inspiration."