"The Cure were just coolest band. They somehow completely hit the nail on the head, and they’re still relevant. They still manage to not put a bad taste in your mouth. They were never pandering to their fans too much. The greyness, the starkness, the boringness of Faith, the minimal-ness, the pathetic emptiness, the bleakness is perfect. They’re perfectly smudged images Robert Smith creates and you can’t make anything out. This record came before they were properly The Cure; at this point they were still a pop band. They were like a pop group; a three-piece that were seen as not really having an image. They were a bit too dapper, and not really punk enough. And then the next record and the record after that were bad. He was basically in the process of killing off his band. Those were very unpopular decisions he was making when he slowed it down and made it very minimal for the second record, which seemed pointless to the critical mass. It was seen as a mistake. And his hair wasn't even grown out at this point. This is a time in Robert Smith’s life before he had decided to come out as a parody of his former self. He was a serious guy but he decided to come out as a mockery. It’s all a caricature of the serious brooding twenty-year-old that was making bad decisions and sinking his band into the ground. After this came ‘The Lovecats’, and that was the worst thing he could possibly do. So my point is what you’re seeing is the evolution of a person. When you look back at that early stuff there is nothing funny about it, it’s completely sincere."

"To Bring You My Love is my favorite PJ Harvey record, I was definitely obsessed with her at that point. She was doing something with the blues that not a lot of artists that I was interested in were doing, sort of making it contemporary. That record had a very natural sound, but it also had a real style to it. It was produced. I still reference To Bring You My Love when we make records. I had really come around to Wire and Talking Heads around this time too, and I started to like that kind of abstract lyrical imagery more than literal story telling. It made it easier to write lyrics, because it was easier to hide behind. At that point, when I was writing lyrics it was all about: What can I sing that won’t embarrass me standing up there onstage? And if you could latch onto something that had a cool meaning to it, that was a bonus. But it wasn’t the primary concern. Sometimes that can lead to a lot of really bad lyrics. And a lot of it is about taste: I didn’t know a lot about what Stephen Malkmus was singing about, but it fucking worked. This is when Spoon’s first album, Telephono, came out, on Matador. In the early ’90s I started noticing that a lot of the records I liked had this Matador logo on the back: Guided by Voices, Pavement, Yo La Tengo, Liz Phair. They were the coolest label. To be able to be in the same company as those people was unreal. So, for a brief time, it was amazing—and then the record came out and nobody cared."