"A boy who was at school with me had been expelled for all kinds of misdeeds and mis-endeavours and whatnot – he had gone to what we called back then a remand school. He had finally served his time in remands and he had come home to a flat not far from my house – we were teenagers at the time – and he held a party to celebrate his freedom. 

 He had a flatmate there who was older than the rest of the kids and he put on Bob Marley and the Wailers' Exodus. I was literally like: 'What the fuck is this?' I'd never heard reggae before. Every single song was brilliant – so hooky, so interesting lyrically. My mum bought me the record because I came home I was like: 'Mum, I just heard this amazing record' [laughs]. She got me that record – I can remember it distinctly arriving for my birthday, that beautiful gold sleeve with the red font. 

 I just relate this with an amazing connection to freedom and discovery and to my beautiful mum loving me, loving on me, wanting me to be happy. Just an extraordinary potpourri of experience and a whole window opening to a different kind of music than I'd ever been exposed to before. 

 It's one of these records I'll put on every Christmas, every party, every birthday as it just puts me in a great mood. He was such an extraordinary, incredible soul and it made for a beautiful, feel-good moment in my life. 

 It also opened my mind up to other genres of music too. Up until that point I'd only ever heard pop music, soul music and rock music and here was a whole other genre from a whole different culture, a whole different way of thinking, a whole different way of living. I was just so taken by that and so curious about it. I've always tried to keep my mind open and try and be sure to explore other cultures – musical cultures – and experiences. 

 I'm so grateful to have discovered that record because I feel like that was the gateway to exploring other kinds of music and remaining open to other expressions of music."

"This is a project from Ben Wallers and Alastair Mackinven from Country Teasers. We moved in similar circles in the mid-90s. I saw them do the whole of this at the Moth Club earlier this year. You could think 'oh what a funny idea to cover the whole of Pink Floyd's The Wall', but they actually did it really well. I used to be a Pink Floyd fan, and one of the first albums I bought was Dark Side Of The Moon, but The Wall is where I parted company with them, I thought it was just a self-indulgent mess. So I was amazed to go and see that they'd actually made it palatable, they'd done something interesting with it. I know it's not coming from a take the piss point of view, Ben's got an actual affection for that record, and they'd really thought it out. The Wall is one of the most indulgent, over-produced records ever done, and so the idea of two guys on a stage at the Moth Club doing it is like 'how the fuck are you going to do that? Where's the choir, where's all this?' But it worked, it was really good. I preferred their version of The Wall to the Floyd one. I remember going to see the film version of The Wall, and Bob Geldof played the main character, and it was so rubbish and painful, the worst kind of that rock star moaning about nothing in particular. There's something in that record to do with a performer's relationship with an audience that's interesting - there is something strange about getting up on a stage and performing in front of people. In Ben's live performances as The Country Teasers or The Rebel, sometimes people think he's trying to wind the audience up or whatever, but it's always important that the audience is there and you're never allowed to be a passive spectator. I don't know if that's why he finds [this album] an interesting thing to deal with, but you could tell that there's a reason for it, it wasn't just 'let's try and do something ridiculous'. "

"Between 25 and 30, we put out our second album, A Series of Sneaks, on Elektra, and were quickly dropped from the label afterward. At that point, I didn’t think the band was going to exist or that I would be able to keep putting out records. I didn’t know what was going to happen and I didn’t have any money and I was living in a shitty apartment in Austin for a while, in a friend’s extra room. I felt pretty directionless. But getting dropped made us come up with that single, “The Agony of Lafitte”/“Lafitte Don’t Fail Me Now,” [which took aim at the band’s Elektra A&R rep, Ron Laffitte]. We were advised not to do it, but it turned everything around. It was really the first story we had. We did it because it was funny and cathartic—someone came up with the song titles, and they were too good not to make a single out of. So I went and wrote the songs. It was a little revenge. It felt good. The next summer, I went to New York and worked a bunch of temp jobs. I latched onto one gig at Citibank, where I had to wear a tie every day, and I kinda got into it. I liked the idea of taking the subway from Brooklyn into the city and working in a high rise every day. It wasn’t anything I felt passion for, but there was something about it that I found a little romantic. And it paid really well, like $23 an hour, which seemed like crazy money in that moment. We had no business making our next album, Girls Can Tell. There was no reason why anyone would want to put out a Spoon record again. We had blown it in the indie world and in the major label world. We were tainted. We had been advised by everyone that we worked with to start another band, or take on a different name. But we just kept doing these local shows, and I kept coming up with these songs, like “Anything You Want” and “Lines in the Suit,” and I felt real proud of them. So we recorded them. I didn’t want to use another name. This was the band. That was also when I got into the Kinks. This was around the time you could start buying CDs on the internet, and there was this thing where if you signed up for this online CD store you could get a free album as your first order as long as it was an address that hadn’t been used before. So I got the entire Kinks catalog by sending CDs to all my friends addresses and my mom’s address and my PO box. And Face to Face was the first one that I got. I could feel a lot of vulnerability in his lyrics, and there were a lot of songs that were just about a single thing, like a train or a party line, just one little notion. I love that. A song like “The Fitted Shirt” would not have existed without the Kinks."