"They were very theatrical. Alex Harvey was 40 something, he was an old guy. And - at the time - that was ancient for rock n roll. He won the Scottish Tommy Steele competition in 1957. The prize? Meeting Tommy Steele! What a bizarre business. That was two years before I was born and he must have been in his late teens/early 20s by then. To be in your early 40s and starting out was unheard of. David Bowie and Alex Harvey knew each other, actually: they bonded over a shared love of Jacques Brel. 'Faith Healer' is one of the best things that ever came out of the 70s. And the end triplet of 'Last Of The Teenage Idols' – which is about the competition that he won. That was amazing. I loved his voice: he screamed his way through life. His version of 'Crazy Horses' is hilarious. He did a song called 'There's No Lights on the Xmas Tree Mother… They're Burning Big Louis Tonight'. It was about a guy in the electric chair who takes all the power off the grid on the night of his death. Nobody in this little town in America gets the Xmas lights. What a brilliant idea for a song. It was theatrics and bravado. Alex Harvey was off kilter - it wasn't like The Sweet or Mud, he was musically brilliant."

"I never really listened to Blur much or many of the other Damon Albarn projects, but I was on tour and kept running into Dangermouse. He was on tour and we were playing a lot of the same festivals. He may even have given me a copy of this record. I remember being in Adelaide in this lonely hotel, drinking a bottle of red wine alone at sunset and listening to this record and being completely mesmerised by it. I love the whole thing. I love Dangermouse’s glitchy, hip-hop Beatles production ideas. It’s just a really great recipe: the whole thing. I spoke to him about making that record but I almost don’t want to know what it involved because it’s so magical to me. I’m totally into Paul Simonon’s bass playing. Even though it’s not a reggae record, courtesy of him it has some of that kind of soul. And Tony Allen’s drumming is wonderful. It almost sounds like military drums. It’s very angular. It doesn’t swing. It sounds like ‘Let’s attack, let’s attack.' At the heart of this record, you have really simple rock & roll performances, but the production brings a lot more detail to it. I’ve worked pretty briefly with Dangermouse on something in the past. I enjoy his personality a lot and I’d sure as hell like to work on a record with him one day."

"I think I was on MySpace, that's how long ago it was, and I was looking for Omar Souleyman. I ended up finding Ali Hussan Kuban by mistake. I found this track called 'Habibi', and it blew my mind. The first bit of drums when it comes in, it's almost like drum & bass, but it's not but it's not folkloric African either, it feels like rock & roll. It's so direct, and it's speaking our language, but it's from a completely different culture, and I just love that. And when you hear his voice… His voice is killer - it sounds like Joe Strummer. His voice just feels so punk, especially later on when they start dubbing it and putting all this delay on it. It was that one song that made me start Melt Yourself Down. I was playing it at a party and people were going mad. By that point I'd been obsessed with this song for months, I was listening to it over and over again. Everyone I played it to was like: ""Oh my god, what the fuck is that?!"". I thought: I want to make a cover of this song, I want to start a band. Because I didn't have a band at the time. Acoustic Ladyland was over. I said: I think I'm going to form a band just to do that one song. The next day when I was coming down from my birthday party evening, I just thought, let's do that - brilliant idea. I phoned everybody and said: ""let's do it!"". I organised a rehearsal and then the next day I came to and thought: 'oh shit, I think a formed a band yesterday'. And then I thought, 'well OK, let's just start writing'. I went upstairs and wrote 'Fix My Life', and then it all came together really quickly."

"Reverend Maceo Woods was really the way I discovered gospel music. I was in the Bahamas recording with Talking Heads, the first album I did with them [More Songs About Buildings And Food] and I used to listen to the radio in my little apartment I had there before we started recording, and I'd tune into these distant mainland American stations and one morning I tuned into this song, which was called 'Surrender To The Wheel'. I thought, ""Wow! What does that mean?"" and those words kept going round in my head, it sounded so sort of Inquisition and medieval or on the other hand, cosmic. Surrender to the cosmic wheel of things. Anyway, I didn't record the song but I could remember the chorus, so I remember going into shops singing it to people and finally someone said, ""Oh, that's not 'surrender to the wheel', that's 'surrender to His will'!"" [repeats in affected accent] ""His weeyill!"", and that's how I bought this album. I loved this album so much, and in particular this one singer on it, this voice that just drove me insane. That was was Doris Sykes. So after buying all the Reverend Maceo Woods albums I could get – and they weren't that easy to get – I started thinking that, really, the thing was Doris Sykes, that was what I was interested in. She has this real insane vibrato, it's just dizzy, kind of mad. It's like somebody who is completely gone [laughs]. Something that you only ever hear in Gospel music really, and in early rock & roll you hear it sometimes as well."

"And then, my fourth one is a comedy, and I was torn between Some Like It Hot, which I love, but my vote went to Spinal Tap, which I thought was more contemporary. It made me feel such an old man, but… One of the things about Spinal Tap — I was doing a documentary [The Long Way Home] about Russian rock and roll in, I don’t know, the late ’80s or something like that, and it was about a Russian band coming — it was around Glasnost when they came across to America to make the record, and it was about Glasnost, and the co-production, as it were, saw the closing of the gap between East and West, as it were. That’s what it set out to be, but it turned out to be a disaster. Not the film, but the whole object of the enterprise, because it split the band up, and the Russian band never made another record. They were completely disoriented by being in the West and all that. So it was one of those documentaries where what you set out to do, you don’t do, and you do something else, which is usually better than what you were going to do. The point of the story is that I showed them Spinal Tap. They fell about, and they couldn’t speak a word of English, but they absolutely got it. It was just, again, the power of the humor and the power of the images, and all this kind of stuff. I mean, we were in common ground — they never understood a word of it, but they were just laughing as much I would laugh every time I saw it. That was a kind of interesting experience for me, to see how universal films can be."

"I first heard this one in 2000, or maybe 2001. My girlfriend at the time, Eleanor, had a Bo Diddley compilation that I think she got from her brother. I was grown by then so it wasn’t like I was listening to Bo in the crib, you know? But I came around to it. ""For a long time, I wasn’t a fan of the blues, because my limited understanding of it was cover bands on Sixth Street here in Austin - that version of the genre was just white guys trying to imitate Stevie Ray Vaughan. I think Bo transcended blues though. There’s so much more going on; there’s pop elements, there’s pure rock and roll elements. ""What I love about him the most is that he’s all about the maracas. That’s something that I’ve snagged, for sure, they’re the coolest percussion instrument. He went on The Ed Sullivan Show with a four-piece band, and one of them was just there to play maracas - that’s how essential it was to the sound. On this song, Jerome himself is the maraca player and he’s singing the response vocal - singing his own name. I love that."

"The whole New York thing was kind of like the Bowie outer space thing – you’d see it on films. And when I first went out to New York I thought how right the music was for the place. It was the antithesis of the California thing. I bought a Velvets compilation with ‘I'm Waiting For The Man’ on, and every title fascinated me. When I got Banana everything about it was cool, a different kind of cool to Bowie, just this disrespective, narky cunt, with the greatest rock & roll band in the history of time. Technically it doesn’t matter, the chemistry between them was incredible. Every rhythm guitar part I’ve ever played I’ve just nicked from Lou Reed, even some of the punkier stuff. There were all these punky little rhythms. Not as important as Bowie in what he decided to do, but up there because it was a band with a definite front man. When I met the right people later in life I would use the Velvets model."

"Take great care with this documentary film of an all-day concert staged by John Phillips in small-town Monterey, California, for it holds within it the greatest single performance by any electric-music instrumentalist you have ever seen, or are likely to: the U.S. debut of the Jimi Hendrix Experience. Known as the man who revolutionized the electric guitar, Jimi Hendrix appears onstage in this film a man possessed. As David Bowie sang in “Ziggy Stardust”: “He could lick ’em by smiling/ He could leave ’em to hang/ They came on so loaded, man/ Well hung and snow-white tan/ . . . He was the nazz/ With God-given ass/ He took it all too far/ But boy could he play guitar.” Never will you see a performance so sensual. There are many great films to be found of Jimi playing, but none to rival this. In Monterey Pop, there are many performances worth watching, seminal, even—Janis Joplin, Otis Redding among them—but they are all just warm-up acts to Jimi, the greatest rock-and-roll star to ever tread the boards."

"If you're thinking I don't seem like a big Van Halen guy, then you'd be right. I liked parts of what they did, but what this is really about is a moment in 2017. Whenever Spoon play, we'll go through the same process in the build-up to stage time. The clock is ticking, we're sipping tequila and we're blasting music, turning it up a little louder with each track. The tour manager comes in, tells us we've got five minutes, and then it's time to pick one last song before we go on. For a while, this was it. It got us going! It was Alex (Fischel) who picked it, I think. It's sort of a David Lee Roth mission statement; all those fucked up lyrics, ""my love is rotten to the core,"" and ""you're semi-good looking."" We've had other pump-up songs - it was 'I Wish' by Stevie Wonder for a while - but this is one of those ones that makes you appreciate the art of the riff. You have to write a lot of them before you land on one this good. It's pure '70S rock and roll. I feel like we need some more of that nowadays."