"“I think ‘Two lovers missing the tranquillity of solitude’ is one of my favourite lines ever written. ‘Days of speed and slow time Mondays / Pissing down with rain on a boring Wednesday’ – all that stuff, man. ‘Opening the windows and breathing in petrol.’ That was my life; we lived right by the gas station. I was like, ‘This sucks. I gotta get out of here.’ The song summed it all up perfectly. And it was all played on an acoustic guitar. I’d always look at the way that The Jam dressed, too. I’d say to myself, ‘Someday, I’m gonna be able to buy me them mod clothes, man.’ I still can’t afford them mod clothes, but whatever. I do my best! Anyway, after that was when I started getting into all the Sub Pop bands, like The Afghan Whigs."

"At this point I was playing in a hardcore band, I was listening to hardcore, I was going to hardcore shows, and at a certain point it started get a bit old for me. This album showed me a way of being intense and meaningful and indeed heavy without distorted guitars and taking your shirt off and screaming at the front row. It planted a seed which, when Million Dead broke up, flourished into what I do now There was also a simplicity to it, because I had got into the complicated end of hardcore and bands like Dillinger Escape Plan and Botch, and there was something about simple chords on an acoustic guitar that reminded me of listening to Counting Crows. It was powerful to me. It planted a seed which, when Million Dead broke up, flourished into what I do now."

"I was torn between this and Five Leaves Left, which is more acoustic. But Bryter Layter just has great pop songs. Great playing as well. It's a shame that he never caught people's attention at the time. I think he was disappointed that he didn't get the acclaim. He's such a one-off, just the sound of his voice and the tunes are very unique. Did you ever hear the record that they put out of his mum singing? It was funny. I always think with Nick Drake that it's like, 'Where the fuck did that come from?' It's a little bit folk, but it isn't really folk, there's a bit of Donovan in there, but there isn't really. And then I heard a home recording of his mum singing on the piano and thought, 'Ah, that's it...' It must be something in the genes."

"Well, speaking of authenticity, if you are going to be authentic then you really have to do it right. On the complete opposite side of the spectrum, what Bert Jansch was doing as a young man was deeply authentic and was genuinely very weird. Bert was a young person very much of his time but was making music that almost sounded ancient. From the guitar-playing point of view, he was innovating on an acoustic guitar in a way that was as powerful as Pete Townshend with electricity in The Who and as intricate as what Jimi Hendrix was doing with his space rock-blues. Vocally, Bert was almost punky and in the way he and his peers went about their lives, he was one of the very first lo-fi musicians - and that was 40 or 50 years ago. Bert was one of my few real heroes. I got to be friends with him for about ten years before he died. He was an amazing person and because we were friends I got to find out that the lifestyle choice of the folkies in Soho in the 60s was a very deliberate and radical. They made certain choices and the fact their music was not in the charts was no accident. In Bert's case, he was the king of the UK beats as a result of the beat poet influence on his generation. Also, he was tuned into the political climate of the time and things like the CND movement and the radical student scene. Bert was a lot more than an earnest folky with an acoustic guitar. I particularly like his second record. The album before it [1965's Bert Jansch] is more revered and held up by most journalists as being the seminal one, but I think the songs are better on It Don't Bother Me, particularly the title track. The fact that they were both recorded in a kitchen at his mate's house is another reason why it has never dated."

"This was probably the first Scott Walker song that I heard, other than Walker Brothers’ songs. “I was in a friend’s car in London around eight years ago and ‘It’s Raining Today’ came on. At the beginning I thought it was unnerving, this weird cluster of notes. At the end of it I turned to my friend and asked, “What was that? Is it modern?” When he explained it was a record from the ‘60s I was like “Are you kidding me?” The production and vocal sound is so clear and hi-fidelity. “I fell in love with the sound of it from a production point of view first of all. I’ve always been interested in the crooner vocal and all that sort of stuff, but once I got into the songwriting it blew my mind, because this is stuff that you can’t sit down and play on an acoustic guitar. “There’s this theory that you should be able to sit and play any good song on an acoustic guitar and ‘It’s Raining Today’ throws that theory out the window. You couldn’t do that song, and songs like it, justice on a guitar, because the orchestration and the chord changes are more psychedelic than any psychedelic record I know. I literally can’t work out any of the chord progressions, and I’m usually decent at sussing them out. I still don’t know what these extended chords are. Maybe if I was a piano player, I would. So, I find that very, very inspiring. “I absolutely love the string arrangement to the song too, it’s so harmonious, even though it’s totally inharmonic. I don’t know how to do that. It’s so brave to have that ominous thing going on underneath these beautiful cadences. There are moments where it’s just on the cusp, but because it’s an orchestra playing it they’re all moving together. If you did the same thing with electronic music or all of it separately, it would be very hard to get that movement and that swell and modulation."