"The Cure were my gateway drug – a year or two later I discovered the Legendary Pink Dots, because I had a boyfriend who was really into them. That blew my mind. It was an entirely new way of being into a band, because they weren't well known. And the music touched me in a place that the Cure couldn't ever dream of reaching. Part of that had to do with the intimacy and depth of Edward Ka-Spel's songwriting, but also the fact that this was a band that no one in my high school had heard of. They were really, really special – they were my band. I became a devotee. If I could wish anything on any teenager, it's that they could get to have a relationship with a band like that, because the Legendary Pink Dots made me so incredibly happy. I really considered them a holy band. Going to see them live was like going to church. They're highly underappreciated band, and I wander around proselytising them all the time. But it's difficult to know where to start, because they have like 900 records. It's overwhelming. I counted the amount of Pink Dots records I have, and it's well over 50, with all the side projects and all the Edward Ka-Spel solo stuff. They're music putter-outers. In one life-changing experience when I was 18 or 19, I not only got to meet them, but they were staying at the house of a friend of mine and I was able to go over to the house after the show and hang with the band. It was my fantasy come true. This really is biopic stuff. I couldn't have scripted my life any better. My friend knew I was a musician and that I had a demo tape, and he said to the Legendary Pink Dots, 'You should hear her stuff.' And they said, 'Sure, put it on.' I nearly shit myself. It was the moment of judgement. This had been my favourite band for years, I couldn't believe I was even in the room with them, and this guy told me to go grab my demo tape so they could listen to it. It was unbelievable. So we sat there, in what was the longest ten minutes of my life, and we popped the tape in and played two songs, and they were like 'Yeah, sounds really good.' And then about half an hour later, I was on the porch sharing a cigarette with Edward Ka-Spel and he looked and me and said 'You know, I think your songs are genuinely really good, and I don't say that to everybody.' In that moment I legitimately decided that I could do this, because I felt like I'd been given transmission from the master. That one little moment of encouragement took me so far, and I always remember that when I'm talking to my own fans."

"I'm gonna go for a topical one... Obviously Stuart Adamson came out of The Skids. John Peel called him the Scottish Hendrix, and I loved The Skids. Absolutely loved them. Then he went on to form Big Country. And first of all I had to take a step back from it, but I just loved the way he put myths and folklore - Scottish folklore - into music, but he also linked it up with the modern day era. All those myths and belief systems were very prescient of modern day culture: how people use music to deal with loss, how people use music to deal with lostness in society, with poverty, with trying to strive to remain above the dignity level. And I thought that was quite a noble ambition for a musician, really. Lots of musicians have done that in different guises, but because Big Country was wrapped up in a certain Scottishness in the music, and what some people have called the Celtic mist in their music, they were utterly pilloried in the press. I love the music press and I love music journalism, but sometimes the music press have to be called to account, and they should give the musical kudos and reparations to Big Country and Stuart Adamson, who's sadly not with us. I also used to think, why is it that Billy Bragg's allowed to have a folk edge to him? The Men They Couldn't Hang had a folk edge to them; The Pogues were allowed to have a folklore edge to them, and people find it acceptable with The Pogues because they could get drunk to it. But Big Country were mercilessly slammed for being Scottish, whining, bagpipes… I look back and think it's a music journalism crime, what happened to them, and what happened to Stuart Adamson. You look at the album and you've just got so many songs which just touch upon the post-Thatcher unemployment that was going on in Scotland at the time... And the English-based press just absolutely slammed him for it; they just thought he was a man dealing in myth and outdated folklore and I think it's disgusting. I remember, in the sleevenotes, he said he understood the power of music way before he understood its language, and that's what he was trying to do with Big Country. It was a noble, amazing achievement which was treated with… what would you call it? Just London-dominated disdain. I'd like to redress that just by picking it. A folk influence is very much allowed in English music today, whether it be fucking Frank Bloke or Mumford And Sons with their Cath Kidston version of it. It's allowed through the gate; it's allowed to sell millions; it's allowed to have a voice. So there is a symbolism there. It's enough to make you want to be independent, the way Big Country were treated by the music press!"

"The Associates were a huge band in Scotland; they certainly had some success in the rest of the world, but they were ours. Certainly when I was growing up I hadn't yet really discovered too many Scottish bands at that point – this was to change of course but these were one of the first I discovered. 
 
 The Associates struck me because I was aware that they were Scottish after I saw them on Top of the Pops and suddenly I made this connection between, 'Oh, you can be from Scotland, where there's no music industry, and be successful. You can get on Top of the Pops, you can be heard by an audience'. It was just a peculiar lesson and a sudden revelation for me of the possibilities that existed for musicians. 

 When you come from a country where back then there was no real established record industry, per se, they stood out. We had a couple of great record labels, you know, 53 & 3rd and Postcard Records and so on, but it was rare to get signed to those two labels, and they were still very small and independent; it was difficult to have the clout of a major London-based record label. 

 The Associates really captured my imagination. I loved them musically and I was really interested in their style. I was obsessed with the 'Gloomy Sunday' cover that Billy Mackenzie did. He had this extraordinary operatic voice; I'd never heard anything like in my life before. 

 I used to go to this club called the Hoochie Coochie Club in Edinburgh, which was big in the game for me, like I spent every weekend at this club. I was introduced to Billy Mackenzie and we really hit it off; I just was kind of obsessed by him. I just thought he was brilliant and really funny, irreverent, rebellious, and fascinating with the voice of an angel. He was so tortured and he had such a sad story in the end. 

 When I heard that he had taken his own life, I was so gutted: the whole of Scotland felt like they had lost a son. He had so much to give – he wasn't just sort of average, he wasn't an averagely successful musician: he was this extraordinary talent, a great interpreter and, again, a great communicator. He was able to make his own brilliant music but to also re-interpret classic songs that had been done by the greats and still he brought something of his own to that. 

 I think 'Gloomy Sunday' by The Associates is by far the greatest version of 'Gloomy Sunday' I've ever heard, and I've heard some amazing versions, like the one by by Sinéad O'Connor or Billie Holiday, but he brings something really special to that.
 
The Associates helped build Scotland's musical confidence to then start really exploring the music scene on its own terms, as opposed to going through London."