"This goes back a long time for me. This was a real defining record for Supergrass around '95 when we were first starting out. It was on the tour bus all the time and I remember our tour manager at the time really loving it. He'd wake us up every morning knocking on our door going, 'baby's on fire!', doing this mad Eno impression and that would always lift us up and make us laugh. There were so many lyrics that we'd sing at each other. I'd meet Danny and go, 'Cindy tells me…' It had this really long lasting effect on us. It's brilliant, just brilliant. It's Eno being kind of clever but dumb, sophisticated but raw and I think it's brilliant. I love his voice and the double-tracking on it and I think it ended up being quite an iconic sound. It's very unique. And for all of his technical ability, I love that he plays dumb on some of these tracks, you know, like on 'Needles In The Camel's Eye' and the guitars are big, filthy, dirty and horrible things. I love it. We almost did work with Brian Eno. We had a meeting with him in Paris before Diamond Hoo Ha and I can't remember exactly what happened but I think our timing schedules didn't work out. It was something frustrating that meant we couldn't work with him. It's weird one. It's kind of like, are they different Brian Enos? Is it a danger to confuse the Here Come The Warm Jets Brian Eno thinking that he was going to walk into a studio with us and create something that gives you that feeling because he's a different person now. I think he's amazing and he's proved to be still a musical force. An incredible guy and he was a really lovely chap when we met him."

"OMG, so I heard that in high school and I of course tried to sing along with it but as she's one of the best singers living or dead, she put the bar pretty high. I'd already learned projection, being able to project my voice by doing musical theatre as a kid, and she was somebody who could project really strongly, have a sweet sounding voice, a strong sounding voice; she had just a huge range. Definitely clever lyrics, her songs were the kind of songs you just wanted to belt out. I especially remember the song 'Do Right Woman, Do Right Man', it went, "So if you want/ A do-right-all-days woman/ You got to be/ A do-right-all-nights man", I was like, "What? You mean that you can ask your boyfriend that if you're supposed to be super awesome to him, he has to be super awesome to you back?" Because I always had awful boyfriends who were total dicks so I was like, "Wait, I deserve better?" Here was this woman telling me, "Look if you want me to stay home and not go running around, you gotta stay home and not go running around either, it's a two-way street here." She was basically staying: "I want equality in my relationship." That was a great message to me as high-school kids who had some pretty destructive relationships. Even though I wasn't really able to realise that until much later, it was a great thing to have in my head. I think my mum's boyfriend had her record so I was introduced to it because it was just there at home. I never had a huge record collection or anything, like five records. But when they started dating he had a bunch of records and I learnt about King Crimson, Van Morrison and Aretha Franklin.‬"

"It was a real wake-up call. Hip hop until 1984, 85 was fun but for the most part it was party music. Living outside New York we'd listen to WBLS and Kiss FM where they played a lot of hip hop and me and my friends liked it, but it was very lighthearted. The Fatboys are the perfect example, or the Treacherous Three, where they have disco basslines and this fun vocal. Then almost out of nowhere Public Enemy happened. Everything about it was different. The lyrics were different, Chuck D's vocal approach was different, the subject matter and the production, the Bomb Squad. I remember hearing it for the first time and thinking how did they do this, because they've basically made punk rock hip hop, the sounds they were using, the way they were distorting basslines, it was a lot of the same ways industrial records were being made but they were making hip hop. It was so revolutionary. You can refer to musical culture in New York as before and after Public Enemy, it changed the city. New York was so dangerous then, it had the highest murder count, people were getting stabbed and shot and the crack epidemic was decimating communities and people were dying of AIDS. You'd go out to nightclubs in the late 80s and you'd hear these apocalyptic Public Enemy songs that perfectly described the city that you lived in, but they were oddly celebratory and you could dance to them. For better or worse one of the reasons I've left New York is because the city I grew up with is still there, but it's become a much meaner, safer version of its former self. I still love New York, but it's become primarily the domain of hedge fund managers and wealthy tourists, so I don't know how many more Suicides and Silver Apples and Public Enemys and Eric B & Rakims are going to come out New York City."