"Again, I've gone for the "pop" album - I've gone for the greatest hit. I thought about all his records and the minimalist composers, and I could have gone for a Terry Riley record or whatever, but there's a reason this is his hit. I could come back and listen to this any time. One of the greatest live music experiences of my life was when Steve Reich had his 70th birthday at the Barbican, and he came over with his musicians and did nearly all of his classic pieces. I saw Drumming and other stuff, and then I saw this at a little church across the street from the Barbican and it's so beautiful, so gorgeous. Really, really moving. Having said that, this year Kieran and I booked a trip of DJ gigs because we hadn't seen each other in a while, and we played the Snowbombing festival in Austria, which was hilarious. We were driving around, so we hired my friend who's this really placid Czech guy. He's the driver on all my tours and I've never seen him get agitated about anything ever. Most people who drive primarily for a living are prone to road rage, but I've never seen him lose it. So he asked us if we wanted to put on any music so on went Music For 18 Musicians. He's not really a music fan - if you put on Albert Ayler he'd be like, "Jesus Christ, what are you trying to do to me here?!" So we were driving through the Alps, I was chatting to him and Kieran and listening to this piece of music that I love. I didn't really notice but he'd gone silent and 40 minutes in he was like, "Um, excuse me, this music's driving me insane, can we please turn it off?" To me it's the opposite of that, it's the most soothing music possible, so I guess that illustrates that it's not for everyone."

"My Mancunian grandmother, who left school at sixteen to work, was a very smart, insatiable reader. She was thrilled when I went to study English at university for three years, but still read far more than I did in that time. I remember thinking it might have been better, certainly cheaper, to enroll with her. She would mail me novels (always beautiful editions) and I would read the back, maybe a first line, and then pile them up beside my bed and feel guilty for not having the time amid weekly essays. My experience of ‘reading’ then could be more accurately described as ‘coloring.’ Extended procrastination followed by an intense period of highlighting, looking for key words and retaining nothing. Always in a post-midnight panic. Always, it felt like, incomprehensible lines of Chaucer. By the time it came to final exams, I’d read practically nothing post-1960 and so was pretty clueless in conversations about books other people had read. It wasn’t until after I finished my degree and my grandmother was very sick that I finally discovered the meaning of ‘reading for pleasure,’ and got round to chipping away at the books she’d sent, most of which I’d politely pretended to have enjoyed in my thank-you calls. I began with a beautiful blue Virago edition of Jean Rhys’ Wide Sargasso Sea, and was electrified. As Rhys’ Antoinette and Jane Eyre’s Bertha began to fuse in my mind, connecting an old favorite novel with a new one, the initial electrical jolt turned into a mixture of rage, wonder, and self-reproach for having put the experience off for so long. I realized I’d probably only told her I “liked” it on the phone. I rang her again, admitted the lie, and told her I wanted to write my own. She laughed and said ‘I knew it. Good. Get on with it.’"