"This is very similar to the Sly record in terms of concrete, abstract funk. When you hear it, it sounds really dense and dark. It doesn't sound organic, it sounds like it's from a concrete jungle. It never goes anywhere; it's in perpetual stasis, almost meditative. A few years ago, they released the sessions and takes, which is a bad thing to do because Miles would jam with his band and then carry on, sit and cut them up, mix them and turn it into Miles albums. It was very well arranged, and that was part of the fucking part of the aesthetic. Then to release the jam sessions for me was a bad idea because it's like releasing the out-takes of somebody's film. Whereas what Miles achieved with On The Corner was incredible. It's a big favourite of Primal Scream, we always used to play it on the tour bus. Miles was never about high energy, he's always cool and there's always a distance with him. All funk records are visceral and in-your-fucking-face, but On The Corner is quite cold too. It's an art funk record. He knew jazz music was old and didn't want to be stuck in the past. Miles was interested in young people and wanted to evolve with what young people were listening to. He was an open and receptive artist – that's the only way you can move forward with new energies and new ideas. We've learned from Miles Davis as a band, too: when you make music, you've got to make it for the future, even if you're not aware that you are."

"""If I want to pick my favourite records then I have to pick something from Motown. When you have that kind of catalogue it can be hard pinpoint one act. In my case, it would have to be the Four Tops and therefore I have to pick a greatest hits album. I never had a problem considering the Four Tops as a band. As a little kid they were omnipresent if you were glued to the radio as I was. They were a constant fixture year-in, year-out. They would release incredible songs like 'It's The Same Old Song' or 'Reach Out I'll Be There'. On this album you get to line up all of these songs back-to-back as a complete body of work, or even like a single live performance. You can hear a darkness and, dare I say it, a rocking spirit that you won't get from The Supremes or from Smokey Robinson or even Stevie Wonder, mostly due to the presence of Levi Stubbs' voice. In addition, the music had to match his voice and his range of emotion that you wouldn't even get on a Marvin Gaye record. Not only were the songs powerful, but the arrangements and instrumentation and the performances meant that, as far as I am concerned, Four Tops rock like Led Zeppelin. What more do you need? It is a collection of incredible tunes. I bought this record when it came out and all my mates thought I was either really, really old-fashioned or a freak. I knew I wasn't old-fashioned but what was the alternative? The Boomtown fucking Rats?"""

"Here we are in 2016. Having enjoyed a rather robust excursion through the ‘70s, it seems like yesterday. As the clock swings around, things tend to reappear – but in this case revisiting the ‘70s is certainly not nostalgic. The ‘70s was a period of style, statement and fashion that probably should not be repeated. It was horrible! The oranges and the browns, the suede combos. I think Charles is challenging a prospective buyer to see through it, to get beyond the repellent quality of the horrible ‘70s, saying, ""If you dare buy this, you probably know to avoid what you're seeing. Let's get into what you're listening to."" 

From the ‘70s what was salvageable on the musical side was truly good. Here in London on Greek Street there was a really cool spot named Madame Jojo's. It was closed up not so very long ago. There was a great northern soul DJ named Keb Darge on Thursday nights who I got to be friendly with. Seventies pop music was intolerable but what we can now embrace as northern soul was something you could really sink your teeth into with satisfaction. He had the deepest record box on those Thursday nights. Recently I tried to take my lovely sweetheart Ms Gilligan to experience it but Keb was absent and instead there was a celebration of transvestism. We had a great time, but the following weekend we were at Camden Market and I bumped into none other than Keb who was still on a quest, trading records. The vinyl game is still vibrant and it's mostly alive at second-hand shops and flea markets. Vinyl trading reigns supreme."

"I don't really know what he's doing anymore musically and I haven't known for a long time, because it hasn't been his main focus for a long time, but Discreet Music is a very singular record. I'm just talking about side A: the other side is just something else. But you can play it on almost any kind of system and it works. It doesn't require hi-fi. I remember in 1978, around Christmas, my first wife and I went on a trip to Cadaqués in Spain, a place associated with Dali, and we rented a converted fisherman's cottage. It was three storeys high and an architect had worked on it, and what they'd done was they'd gutted the whole building top to bottom, and there was a staircase that ran from near the door up to the roof, which was a flat roof that you could sit on. And the floor seemed suspended. It was an amazing place. And we had a tape of this album and the kind of portable cassette player you used to have in the 70s, but you could put it on in the bottom part of the house, not even on full volume, and the room just filled. The music filtered through the whole space. I don't know any other music that could do that. He did other interesting ambient works and his early song records are good, but Discreet Music is such a singular piece. There really is nothing else like it that exists. It's just three notes. It's so simple. There's nothing to it, but it's completely musical."

"I love the orchestration, I love the sentiment, [Thom Yorke] is going through a peaceful patch on that record. He sounds like for the first time he is crooning to you a little bit, like he is a little more comfortable. He is still dealing with huge social issues in his lyrics and very deeply personal experiences as well. On 'Morning Bell' he sings: ""Where'd you park the car?"" That's the conversation your parents have when they are newly split up. They still have to share a vehicle, that is a conversation that they have to have. If you're a child of the '80s, nowadays everybody's got their own car, but that was the only communication my parents had after about six months. And when I heard it singing out in the middle of his lyrics, I just knew for sure that's what he was talking about. So, beautiful, overarching. Sometimes Thom's lyrics are like being berated. It's like being shouted at, and then at other times, he seems to pull a rainbow out of the sludge out of nowhere. That record, it could have been any of them, but that's the one I consider mine, in the same way I feel a sense of ownership of those Talk Talk records. That's the Radiohead album that's given me the most joy. It can take you back to a sad time in your life, and I think that's what good music does as well. You know it brings you forward to the present, but also reminds you of your emotional connection to something in the past. And I think if an album can do that, it's worked, basically."

"I kept reading about punk, but the local radio station wouldn’t play punk; they didn’t think it was real music. That led to me one of the musical discoveries of my life. One night, I really wanted to hear what this punk music was and, turning the radio dial, I heard John Peel’s radio show. I started listening to it and taking songs off there all the time, and that became my musical education. It made me want to form a group; the early Pulp were really just a ragbag of the influences that we’d picked up from listening to John Peel’s show every night. The first Devo album came out that year [in 1978], and I went to see them play at the City Hall in Sheffield, which was quite influential. One of the first songs that Pulp learned how to play was the Devo song “Gut Feeling.” A couple of years later, when we first did some recordings, I took them to John Peel—he used to do these road shows at colleges, and I just went along to the one he did in Sheffield and hung around and gave him the tape after when he was putting all his records back into his DJ box at the end. He listened to it on the way home, and that really changed my life. Then he gave us a session [in 1981]. We were all still at school. I was 16 or maybe just 17, and the drummer was 15 and he looked about 12. He could hardly reach the bass drum pedal to play the drum."

"I didn't give them the time of day until I was probably in my thirties. I've learnt that a lot of the records that you love are things that you grew up with and really excited you when you were a kid. But there a few things that creep in later on, when you realise the greatness. I could've put in Bridge Over Troubled Water, but I didn't at the last minute, because the back end of that record doesn't do as much for me. Whereas the clunkily-titled Parsley, Sage, Rosemary And Thyme has got a lot of more of the tunes from them - I mean I just really love Simon And Garfunkel, I couldn't quite pin down the album that I wanted to put in. I think this is the one with most of the songs on it that I love. I'm generally quite a contrary person and I don't like to be told what I like. There's always people telling me "oh, you've got to hear this, it's really great and you'll love it". It's like, "How the hell do you know what I will love?" Music is such a personal thing, you can't tell other people what they will like and what they will love. People have given me things that they think I will love and I've just thrown them out the window of my car I've hated them so much. But this is the exception that proves the rule. I think my favourite is 'Feelin' Groovy' - I could say one of the more arty ones, but I like that one the best [laughs]!"