"My entry into Gong would've been the Camembert Electrique album, which I bought for 50p or something like that. A lot of people at school had that record and, in fact, my first entry into being in a band at school was a band that just did Gong cover versions. It was an interesting education as I was dabbling around on an electric violin, and what with all those interesting time signatures. We did a street party for the Queen's Silver Jubilee in 1977 and just played Gong covers! Later, down the line, one of the guys who was in the band became a member of Gong in the 80s, a guy called Graham Clark, and we got to the know them quite well. We were that much of a bunch of fanboys that we would make our way into the dressing room. There was a point when Gong founder Daevid Allen was playing with Here And Now, which was like this festival-type band, and every time they came to Manchester they let us play on stage using their instruments. We had this group called Danny And The Dressmakers and we'd play the worst noise you could possibly play; it was like an anti-band. We went on tour with Here And Now in a converted ambulance and did three gigs with them. And so we built a strong allegiance to the brand of Gong, which has carried on throughout my life. We also performed at the Gong Family Unconvention in Amsterdam at the Melkweg many years later, and Daevid Allen stayed at my house a few times. He was a very interesting character and proper musical melting pot in terms of where he comes from. I picked Angel's Egg because it's when the band was still experimenting. There are tracks here that are real improv, while others are really composed. There are tracks where certain members take a lead on it. They recently put a box set called Love From Planet Gong and listening to the re-mastered version of Angel's Egg, it occurred to me that this music couldn't be dreamed up in most people's imaginations. It's a fascinating record."

"I had been keeping my eye on Sufjan Stevens for a while. He's always been surprising me and blowing me away. His song 'John Wayne Gacy, Jr.' has one of the best lyrics I have ever heard. On Carrie & Lowell he made an album that has no standout tracks – everything is just remarkable. Sufjan is a maverick and this album is a delicate, fragile piece about the death of his mother who had problems with schizophrenia and alcoholism. The lyrics are beautiful and he sprinkles in some almost Simon & Garfunkel-style harmonies to these folk songs, while others have an almost Sigur Rós element as well. I took my ten-year-old son to see him play. My son had pretty sophisticated tastes. We sat there, holding hands and weeping at the concert. Sufjan drew an incredible performance from that record that was so full of life and death. Sufjan didn't talk for an hour-and-a-half at that gig. It was like watching a sacred ceremony. The lighting and the visuals were the most profound I have ever seen in any concert. Then, after 90 minutes, he talked solidly for ten minutes. He was geeky, gawky and funny. I thought this must have been a pre-prepared speech. He had us belly-laughing. Then, he went back to the ceremony and it was such a bizarre contrast between this vulnerable boy during his talk, to this shaman performing in stillness. The only other rock musician I think can perform in stillness, to that level of profundity, is Leonard Cohen. I went to see that show three times and it changed every night. His talk changed every night, so it wasn't a prepared speech. He would end the show, after playing these beautiful folk songs, with about 15 minutes of noise, worthy of Sigur Rós and a lighting effect, which I can only describe as what I think the soul will look like when I die. It left me shaking and sobbing. It was one of the top five gigs I have ever seen – and I have seen the greats. Sufjan can get you on all levels. I think he will be seen as one of the greats of this generation."

"There are certain records that I know a lot about and others that I don't, and I think this one, for me, purely on a symphonic, musical level, it just is one of my favourite classical pieces. I think it's especially about the first movement, where the double-basses come in barely audibly, and it builds and they're just repeating their pattern. There's something about pattern in classical music, and that's why I've chosen Steve Reich as well: phrases and themes that get repeated and then get others on top that repeat, it's a cyclical thing that starts to happen with this harmony and rhythm, and it fascinates me. I also love double basses being bowed, there's just something about that that really pleases me. It builds into this huge thing and there's this moment where there's just one piano note, like a summoning, and the woman's voice comes in. I just think it's really soulful. I could've chosen Ravel's Bolero, which is also a really popular piece of music, but it's another one of my absolute favourites because again it's repetitive, it's almost like dance music, it's a repetitive theme that builds and builds. When I was going to see Underworld, off my face, in a tent - I think there's something similar, when instrumental music just builds and builds and builds. [Górecki] is really interesting technically as well as emotionally, which is the theme of this whole discussion almost: my greatest love is of people that have managed to walk that line between technical, competent songwriting or structure or understanding the art form and understanding the craftsmanship and at the same time imbuing that with reality and grit and fucking true connection to soulfulness and the universe. You can make a person cry because of what you're doing. That combination is just dynamite, isn't it? There's nothing better. You can sit in a room making a lot of avant-garde white noise and wanking over yourself, that's fine, or you can make amazing, soulful pop songs. Surely the artist's job is to be a consummate craftsman but within that be a complete child, innocent of expression and tapped in."