"Flawless again. She's a poet! I knew who she was, she was in my peripheral, but I discovered her, god, maybe ten years ago. The beauty of being in your 30s is the beauty of being able to admit that you didn't hear The Wipers first. Or that you knew the Hole version of 'Credit In A Straight World' before you knew the Young Marble Giants version. When you're 20 you're a little more self-conscious about it. But yeah, and I'm glad that I had a relationship with her as an adult. I didn't grow up listening to her as a teenager at all. In Arkansas she wasn't on the radio. God, that's another record where every song is my favourite song. 'Kimberly'? My god. 'Free Money'? I don't even know where to start. It's poetry set to music and it's done so well. Other people have tried to do that and it doesn't really work and she just really pulled it off in a way that was beautiful and not trying too hard. She's effortlessly cool and she gets cooler."

"I’d never seen the Stooges as early punks or anything—that’s media manipulation of facts; I loved them, but I was always appalled with their long hair. By this time my record collection was enormous and expanding, and my tastes were extremely varied. During the punk years, I really loved the Raincoats and X-Ray Spex and the Adverts, groups that were doing things way out on their own. There was plenty of experimentation going on musically in all areas, particularly reggae.” “I lack prejudice except for music that I find to be reminiscent of somebody else’s work—I find no need for endless Chuck Berry versions, which was very popular at the time. And I had little time for what was coming out of America; bands like Television never really grabbed me, I just couldn’t connect. It was all too clever for its own good and wrapped up in too much Rimbaud poetry: Get over it and write about your own life, not what you find in books."

"Next is a documentary called Night and Fog by Alain Resnais, which is a story of then and now, of concentration camps. That had a major influence on me, again, for the poetry, if you can call it that, of the documentary, but also the way he used time, the way he used two time zones, two sets of material, to make his point, and to give the film, which obviously had some astounding, alarming images in it, but without a lot of babble, of explanation, by contrasting what it once was and what it is now. It was very moving to me, and I think that was inspirational, again, in the [Up] films I did with these children, which I’m still doing. But I could see how you could time travel in documentary, and it makes both sets of material more powerful. Of course, the film is incredibly powerful anyway. But nonetheless, he’d found a style of doing it, a way of doing it… It’s just, the power of those images, without endless babble, was, to me, a very strong lesson."

"This is a record I had when I was a younger man and I stumbled back onto it. I love every song on it. I love his melodies. I love his surrealist point of view. He was really in love with language and melody. [sings] “My wife and my dead wife, did anyone ever see her?” He knows he’s getting your attention. He’s very entertaining. [sings] “I’m the man with the lightbulb head!” He’s got me man! He had me with the song titles alone. It has this one 80s poppy number. ['Heaven'] (sings) “She’s got heaven, heaven in her eyes.” He doesn’t sound groundbreaking lyrically up to that point. He gets to the resolve: “She’s got arms, she’s got legs, she’s got heaven.” It’s like the object of affection in the song is being dismembered. He’s not expressing his own sexual drive. He’s not saying it how Rod Stewart would say it. [At this point he unleashes a Rod Stewart howl.] Hitchcock’s poetry bubbles out of him like Lewis Carrol. It doesn’t have to make sense."