"The thing about Cat Stevens is I probably prefer Mona Bone Jakon as far as the songs and production goes, it's a little bit starker, a little rawer than the other ones, but the reason I picked Tea For The Tillerman was because of the song 'Father And Son'. It's not my favourite Cat Stevens song at all but it was written for a musical that was never made called Revolutia, a blended word of 'revolution' and 'Russia'. The song sort of doesn't make sense - why is this one guy singing both of these characters? It's Cat Stevens singing the high voice and the low voice - and you wondered, god, this guy was probably at the height of his worldwide fame and he's obviously a master craftsman, he can crank out the songs but why couldn't he get this musical made? Or maybe he didn't want to - it seems like he wanted to and it just never happened. Then he was like, oh, just put it out on the next album. And I think there's a couple of other songs that seem like they could be from that same musical - 'But I Might Die Tonight' I think is kind of similar. All these albums that I really love from the 70s and late 60s - David Bowie's Diamond Dogs or The Kinks' Arthur, and they are songs from musicals basically, but it doesn't make sense there's this one guy singing it. Maybe it's ego or something, but that's why I picked that album. I looked up on Wikipedia what the reviewers thought of the album and I think the Rolling Stone guy talked about "Cat Stevens' occasional overuse of dynamics", which was the thing we were trying to do with Break Line, make things dynamic - start small and get big, and it's just so funny that at that time a reviewer would be like, "I'm sick of all these dynamics - I want more compression!"

"It probably won't be too much of a surprise that I picked this. I knew the Dinosaur L tracks and the big ones from compilations, and I didn't really know anything about who Arthur Russell was, until this was reissued in 2004. I was finishing my PhD at the time, trying to get something mathematical done and listening to this record over and over again. It's the kind of a record you can do something else to, but I always used to get really distracted by it. It still sounds like absolutely nothing else to me, it was such a revelation. He's such an amazing melodist and it's so sonically stimulating and different - that processed cello and voice, you still don't hear that anywhere else. But also the way the record is structured. There are parts of it that feel half-finished. It feels more like a collection of demos that were made spontaneously. It's not like a Hendrix album where everything would be meticulously produced, though there's something really wonderful about that. The life wasn't squeezed out of it. His voice has been so important for me. I was already singing on my music before I heard this, but I was always disguising my voice as much as possible. His voice is so beautiful and distinctive, but it's not the classical idea of what a singer should be. So it gave me a way in to singing on my own tracks, even though my voice is weak and pedestrian. It's a way for those of us who are non-traditional singers to not have to think about comparing ourselves - y'know, I'm a singer, and Marvin Gaye's a singer… He's like the vocal equivalent of a Stradivarius. But it gave me a way of thinking about singing that wasn't about being professional; it's about embracing the amateurishness and foibles of my voice."

"I think I heard Värttinä first on an album of so-called world music that EMI put out on a label it owned at the time of this record [1994]. They sent me some tracks and opened me up a little bit to Scandinavian folk music - some great stuff from Sweden and Finland that I was very enthused to hear. Although I speak not a word of Finnish and I have no idea what these Finnish fishwives, as I call them, are singing about, we want to immerse ourselves in some notion of what the words mean. It’s just in the same way I don’t speak Hindu or any other Indian language, but love Indian music. Curiously, the marriage between Indian music and Finnish music occurred officially a few years ago when AR Rahman, the great Indian contemporary composer and arranger, discovered Värttinä too and did an album where he used Värttinä’s voices singing in Finnish in some of his sophisticated Bollywood music. He, like me, had fallen under the spell of these fishwives, although I’m sure he too speaks not a word of Finnish. So it’s something about the sound of the words, how the sounds are enunciated, that lets the imagination roam free, unconstricted by what might turn out to be the awful truth, that it’s yet another boring love song."

"This was the first band I ever saw. I went to see The Who at Charlton in 1974, when I was 12 or 13, and we bunked in, and supporting The Who was Alex Harvey. And, fuck me! He had this sort of fake brick wall, and he burst through and started singing ‘Framed’ and it was just a fucking revelation. It’s funny because I’ve been looking at a bit of him on Youtube recently, interviews that he did, and what a fucking character. The bits of film that are left of him, there’s a clip of him singing ‘Framed’ at some festival, and he pours a bottle of beer over his wild curly hair and turns it into a quiff with his hand. It was only when Jerry Leiber from Leiber & Stoller died recently that I realised they wrote that song. He shocked me, with the theatricality, the fearlessness, just doing what the fuck he wanted. They had this song called ‘The Faith Healer‘, which I heard made Johnny Rotten want to be in a band. Just outrageous, but charming and intelligent too. And they did a version of the Jacques Brel song, ‘Next‘, which was just fucking brilliant. He weren’t around for very long, but I have a lifelong love of his work. Just that mixture of comedy and… terror. Perfect!"