"As an artist, Nina Simone has inspired me so much. I think she was my introduction to artistry. Especially coming from a woman, it really changed the way I viewed music and gave me an incentive to learn piano. I was probably about nine or 10 when I first heard her music – it was my Dad that played me a live rendition of a song that she’d done two days after Dr Martin Luther King Jr. was shot. It was called “Why? (The King of Love Is Dead)”. I remember waiting for my Mum outside work, he used to play that song. As soon as I heard her voice I was just hooked on it. ""'I Want a Little Sugar in My Bowl' is one of my favourite songs of hers to sing. I have been thinking about [covering it]! It has so much room in it melodically to freestyle, maybe improvising some of the lyrics to make it more relevant to my life. I’d probably do it just on piano instead of with the full band. There’s times when I’ve seen Nina combine classical music with jazz, so I’d probably attempt some of that. It’s such an open song – I think that’s what I love about it. I just love the space in in it. Even the title’s quite metaphoric: sexy, but quite poetic at the same time. ""Nina Simone showed me that there are really no rules with music. The more you learn in any direction, it can only empower what you’re doing. Reading about her history, at first her dream was to be a classical pianist! It’s so effortless – she’s not even looking at the keys, she’s not even thinking! And then she’s singing a pop song on top of a classical jazz fusion! She definitely inspired me to become accomplished where I can, just to add more freedom to express myself more deeply."

"Well, I think one thing is I love seeing the 15th century in black and white, in the 20th century. The physical imagery… that scene in the balloon at the beginning of the movie, the way that it’s cut together and the way that it functions and what he’s looking at. The sound, the music. Tarkovsky is one of my favorite directors and I think there’s just a great abstract quality in his films, where you see something and, as you’re looking at it, it transforms in front of your eyes. Things happen that you can’t believe you’re looking at — a horse falling down a flight of stairs; all of a sudden there’s a moment where you’ve got Christ, in the snow, carrying his cross up a hill. The kind of subliminal violence that occurs — when this guy gouges the eyes out of one of those journeymen, artisans that are leaving the reconstruction of a church; the apathy in the violence reminds me of the W.H. Auden poem, “Musee des Beaux Arts.” The old masters, they really knew about human suffering. And I guess in that particular film, what I’m thinking about is the length of the takes, and the surprise of what you actually see being filmed. The way slow motion is used in that movie also; the way that movies are not like that anymore. The scale and the depth of field of what you’re seeing is vast. So there’s a poetic quality to that. I’d have to mention The Passenger also, because there’s a moment when Antonioni has Jack Nicholson sticking his arms outside of a cable car, and for that moment you just have this sense of observing observation — that’s a big part of moviemaking to me, or painting. That kind of filmmaking, where the camera is still but everything around it is moving, and moving at different speeds, is something that I’m attracted to."

"I’m not in love with John Ford’s movies. They are staples, and it’s like saying you don’t like bread—Ford’s films are in all filmmakers’ foundations, somewhere, it’s inescapable. But when it comes to being in love with movies, I’m more of an Anthony Mann girl. Having said this, Ford’s Young Mr. Lincoln is one of the most beautiful films ever made. The images early in the film of Henry Fonda in his thick, unruly, natural environment of rivers and briars and brambles strike my heart in ways so deep I can’t even explain. The majestic landscapes Ford would be later known for are much more grounded here, more personal. What he shot reminds me of a home so far ago lost. And there is a feeling of that, deeper than nostalgia, running all through this film. It’s like a grand American ache. Henry Fonda explains on the commentary how he initially turned the film down, then the screenwriters went to his house and READ HIM THE SCRIPT! Out loud! What balls! I can’t imagine anyone doing that these days. Then he said yes to the part, did the screen test with the fake nose and flipped out when he saw himself as Lincoln and felt he couldn’t do it—he couldn’t play someone with that weight that Lincoln had and still carries and holds. Well—I won’t spoil it for you—you MUST hear what very simple ingenious thing grumpy old Ford said to get Fonda to do the role. Supporting Fonda’s performance is an incredible cast—Alice Brady in her final performance before her early death, Ward Bond, and Richard Cromwell (whom I had a real sweet thing for)! The booklet is just as poetic as the movie, with essays by Geoffrey O’Brien and Sergei Eisenstein between the pages of lovely quiet stills of a very accessible yet long-gone American landscape."

"It really is just this album. After this I think it was all downhill, and I never followed Morrissey's solo career. Musically I felt it was lost on me. I think the real power that hit me was in this record; the urgency and the energy of the record. Also I lived in France; I was a French adolescent when I first heard them, it was either 'This Charming Man' or 'Hand In Glove', and obviously in the UK it was a complete social phenomenon, everyone knew The Smiths, but in France you were really leftfield if you knew The Smiths or listened to The Smiths. And there were corners in those songs that were totally mysterious and fascinating and unpredictable. That was what I loved about them: there was a kind of beauty that you couldn't catch. I'd never heard this type of songwriting before. I think in the UK and Ireland there is the folk tradition, and I feel more depth in the folk music I've heard that's British, and more unaffected beauty. I've heard little French folk music, but what I have heard is highly repetitive, and nothing poetic or haunting or deep. It maybe had its uses at the time, but I don't feel that it has crossed that barrier into the modern world as well as the British folk music. So I don't know if it's because of that, if the roots would come from that and that differentiated it, because at the time I lived in France. But it had a huge resonance because it was new and different. It was beautiful. It had confidence and spunk to it, and of course Morrissey was a tremendous energy and singer. With the lyrics you would learn words and the meanings were not readily thrown at you; you had to think more deeply about what he was saying. The irony and all of that made it very fascinating. I don't own this record, but I'm sure if I played it today I would still enjoy it very much."