"This was the first Ramones song I heard. I was nineteen or twenty years old and I’d read about them in New Yorker Magazine and alternative music magazines like Village Voice and Trouser Press. They were getting all this press but they weren’t getting any radio play in Wisconsin, so you had to wait until it came into the record store to hear it and I was smitten the first time I heard ‘Blitzkrieg Bop.’ I bought their record and it just floored me in its simplicity, two minutes or a minute and thirty renditions of songs that were verse, chorus, verse, chorus, chorus, end of song. The songs were super precise and cut down to the bare bone, they were pop songs and had a very crude simplicity to the recordings. I think I went through three vinyl copies of their first record. I’d get up in the morning and play it twice before I’d go to the university and then I’d come back at night and just blast it non-stop. We’d have these punk rock party nights just listening to The Ramones album and ‘Blitzkrieg Bop’ always set the tone for me, it’s an incredible song. We’d bring all our friends over, get kegs of beer, clear all the furniture out of our living room and jump up and down and slam-dance. The first Ramones record is the greatest punk rock record of all time, it inspired The Sex Pistols, it inspired everybody. A thousand punk rock bands were formed after they saw The Ramones, they were the first true originals to do that and I’m still a huge Ramones fan."

"Electro 1 represents the kickstart of that kind of music for me and a whole crew of mates. We were 13 or 14, this arty, conscientious little urban crew of kids just roaming around. It was fun, it was exciting because the music was really hard to get hold of, there was only one pirate radio station, I think it was Tim Westwood that did it. You had to tune into it on a Thursday at 4 o’ clock. They would play all these kinds of tunes, but no one else was into them. No one was into hip hop. Everyone else was into that gothy fucking angular stuff, whereas I didn’t know who The Smiths were until about four years ago. We were kind of early pioneers, well, not pioneers, we were rubbish Chiswick kids, trying to be a bit urban, adopting some of the clothes but quite naively. We all looked like total pricks. I always got it wrong and wore a chef’s hat or something. I was like the dude in the band that never looked quite right, the Gary Barlow one who doesn’t fit the clothes that the stylist’s picked out."

"This was a song that I'd hear on the radio quite a bit when I was growing up. It wasn't a current song, but it was one of those that had legs, and they just kept on playing it. ""The reason it was on my mind is because I pulled it apart the other day. I do that when I'm trying to get into work mode. I might have been hanging with friends, or dealing with business or talking to my mom, so when I want to switch over to the kind of mindset where I need to be receptive to musical ideas, it sometimes helps me to just play a song that I really love - not one of my own - and pick at it. What are the chords doing here? I'm asking that kind of question. ""I heard the Fugees version - which is what brought it to mind - but the Flack one is my favourite. To get to that place in my head when I'm working, I need to do something physical, like sing and strum the guitar on a track that's not mine and just figure out what makes it tick. So in terms of 'Killing Me Softly', there's this cool trick - this cycle of fifths - where you play a chord, and then go a fifth up, and then another fifth up, and it sounds as if it's going down at the same time. You don't hear that very often, but it's on songs like 'Goodbye Yellow Brick Road' and 'You Never Give Me Your Money'. ""At first glance, you might say this is a sad song, because of the tone and approach, but it's not. It's just somewhere to go if you're looking for an emotional experience, because it's pure soul"

"That was from John Peel, where I discovered load of music when I was younger. It was a free album given away with their first album. I remember John Peel didn't really play the proper album, he just played the dub version. I had taped most of the tracks off the radio but I didn't have a copy, and ended up finding it at a market about ten years ago. To me that's like Thatcher Music - it came out about the time that Thatcher came to power and in some ways you can hear that, it's got this cold harshness, like its anticipating the shit that's going to go down, especially the track called 'Paranoia Claustrophobia', it's great but it's pretty dark. I got told off for playing that. In the aftermath of Margaret Thatcher dying you weren't supposed to mention her. I was doing the show at the time, I thought it was a big event and didn't really like the fact that we weren't allowed to mention it. Tony Benn had died a few months earlier and as soon as that happened everyone was going 'loony left' and stuff like that, nobody seemed to take much care about whether they were going to upset his family, but as soon as Margaret Thatcher died it was 'oh don't speak ill of her, have some respect'. So you weren't allowed to play records that referenced her and you weren't supposed to mention her, but I played that Basement Five and said something like 'music from the Thatcher era' and ten minutes later somebody came down and said 'don't say things like that'. Tory governments are always going on about how the BBC is a hotbed of socialism but I got told off for that so I don't think there's much truth in it."

"I think the production on this - who did she work with? But she used things like forks and - oh yes, it was Matthew Herbert! - and so when I first heard it I thought it was a bit mental, but it's really not mental once I had lived with it for a bit. A lot of it's really poppy and the last song is a ballad that's just heartbreaking. Talk about the radio not playing things, how could they not play this? Her style of singing really influenced mine on a track I did called 'Jealousy', and I'm basically trying to sing like her. When I listened back to the demo, I'd done a pretty good impression of Róisín Murphy! It's just her delivery, and she's really brave and I think that record was exactly the record I needed to hear. It wasn't necessarily what the record company wanted, and that's why I love it. It came out, and I don't know where it charted, but I would hear bits of it on TV over the next three years. And then five years after it came out, So You Think You Can Dance did a massive thing to it. And it warms my heart that music that is genuinely great does get to have a life beyond the chart and starts getting into the ether."

"This is a very important album for me. When John Peel was alive, before he went off on the holiday that he didn’t come back from, he asked a few of us to look after his radio show for him – Siouxsie Sioux, Robert Smith – and he said that Rick and I could do anything we wanted, which was very generous of him. So Rick asked him if there was anything he wanted us to play and he handed us Tripper and said, “this has just come in and I really like it.” As somebody who grew up with John being my most important musical teacher, especially his philosophy around cross-collateralised ideas between musical genres – this was important because it was the last album he ever gave me. The last record he asked to be played on air. But I loved the sound of the album – again, they have a whole other structure for writing songs. They have this filmic quality. It’s a very panoramic sound. They were one of the first bands I ever heard using that glitchy, cut-up electronic vibe and yet incorporating it with traditional instruments. And when I go and see them live, sometimes they’re a three-piece, then a seven-piece, or they’ll have an orchestra with them – they defy definition. They just make beautiful music."

"I shamefully saw this study in maritime lunacy on one of those industry links that emit noxious gas from your computer if you dare to forward to anyone. I was about to do a joint interview with Robert Eggers for MovieMaker magazine, hence the link, and was pretty excited given how much I loved “The Witch.” “The Lighthouse” is unlike anything I’ve seen. Willem Dafoe reminded me a lot of a security guard I worked with at Trollope & Colls joinery in Reading many moons ago. It was that look in the eye from someone who saw too much of what was in their head. That’s something I instantly recognized and it brought me right back to the gates of that joinery. There were too many similarities — the pride in the job, the obsessive attention to detail, the authoritarian streak and the delusion. I got to reimagine my days archiving a room of architect’s drawings in a joinery as being stuck in a lighthouse with a flatulent Willem Dafoe. I adored the dialogue and I could listen to Dafoe and Pattinson endlessly if Mr. Eggers ever did any radio play spin-offs. There are elements of Harold Pinter and Herman Melville amongst a host of other touchstones I probably missed, but it’s a film steeped in its own logic. Its saline black & white photography is also moody enough to probably tempt Béla Tarr out of retirement."