"I believe this track had a lot of political resonance in the late ‘70s. I don’t know what the impact was at the time, because I was too young - I would’ve been about seven years old. It’s so articulate and compelling; it’s one of the most powerful pieces of lyricism to have come out of the twentieth century. “One of the biggest clichés that I despise is when guys who write lyrics for their band describe themselves as poets - it’s usually the most absurd affectation. With Linton Kwesi Johnson though, you have the opposite, a genuine poet who is putting his words to music. It’s really powerful sonically, too - Dennis Bovell’s production is astonishing and the record just really kicks. The words aren’t just believable, but completely empathetic. When he’s describing blows raining down on his friend and his reaction, it’s like you’re there with him. It’s like stepping into a movie or a really good book and watching the hero right in front of you. Very few songs pull that off as well as this one does. “I’d always listened to reggae growing up, but I didn’t hear this song until I was nineteen or twenty. I shared a flat, for a long time, with a guy from Ghana who was a big Linton Kwesi fan, and it was him who played me the record first. When I was growing up in the ‘80s, the Afro-Caribbean community in Britain didn’t really have much of a voice in the general media, so this record still felt relevant ten or fifteen years later when I finally heard it. “I was just talking to my sister the other day about the racism we saw going on at school. We went to the same one, this really ordinary comprehensive in Glasgow, she’s ten years younger than me and yet we saw similar things. It wasn’t even casual racism - it was often really active racism through which people identified themselves. There were school desks with NF scrawled on them, and some of the language that was thrown about was pretty appalling. It made this song all the more powerful when I first discovered it."

"I was in hospital this year and I made a point of listening to Exai and Oversteps, and Oversteps is amazing. I completely missed it at the time because I thought they'd disappeared way up their own arses. Academic music for academics. There is an element of that, I think. But those EPs remind me of walking around London completely off my head. It's the best music for that. For me, they represent coming back to electronic music after doing my homework. I immersed myself so much in the idea of the heritage of where my music came from that I missed out on rave culture and a whole scene that I belonged to, having come out of that whole electro/breakdance thing. I felt like I'd taken a wrong turn. But coming to Autechre… What I heard in them was Sonic Youth in electronic form. You've got that whole thing of mutated music turning itself inside out. Destroying itself as well. It induced a bit of a head rush and a panic that was actually quite enjoyable. Walking around London with a huge pair of headphones on completely off my tits listening to Autechre is the city experience for me. I like the overload of it. But they are also capable of beauty – I think that's what makes them so real. I have struggled with a few of their records. Chiastic Slide was one I bought when I first moved to Kilburn and I really didn't think much of it at the time. But what's amazing about Autechre – even at that point when they hadn't become IDM gods – was you knew that you had to persist with them; that it wouldn't reveal itself on first listen. You had to dig a bit, the same with Sonic Youth. I persevered with Sister and it became a favourite after a while. Chiastic Slide is now my favourite Autechre album. You can't rely on them to just do what's expected. Picking the EPs is a bit of a cheat, but some of my favourite tunes are on them – 'Cichlisuite' and 'Envane'."