"Photek is moody, it really got me. The title track 'Modus Operandi' was fucking good, the tension, then the first four tracks are really good. It reminded me of CCTV, it caught the atmosphere of this emerging new world coming out the ashes, this refined capitalism, the greed of Britpop at the end of the 90s when things were becoming more intense. Very claustrophobic. They kind of merge, this album and Red Snapper. I used to like getting absolutely walloped after a gig and putting it on, fucking yeah. I was in a sort of Terry Callier type act at the time. He's fucking brilliant - he died about four years ago. That stuff doesn't make the list because it didn't influence the structure of Sleafords really, the kind of music I wanted for it or the vocal. At that time, I only really listened to jungle or drum and bass at home. I was never into those nights, fuck that, no way, I wasn't interested. By that time bar culture had come along and I liked to sit around doing lots of sniff, you know. Sit around, soaking it all in, looking like a tit, you know."

"The thing that blows my mind about Fela's records is that he can just write two 15 minute songs, and they don't feel at all indulgent. It's all in one key but it never bores you. The tension is like slow, tantric sex, it just builds and builds. He knows how to capture a vibe and hold it tight so the intensity keeps building before it explodes. I don't know why 'Lady' is my favourite track, but personally it hits me really hard. I listen to it all the time, and I find the lyrics really entertaining too. It's his version of a feminist album I guess, he's talking about how 'the woman eats the meat before the man…' I guess that's a symbol of liberation. Meanwhile he has his nine wives singing the backing vocals. He's more than a musician, he's a superman. He almost took over Nigeria and his compound was a separate city, he had his own laws, it's amazing that music can be that powerful. I'm a huge fan of his, He's an example of how music can almost start a revolution."

"The thing that makes The Vanishing so chilling is its unorthodox structure. It starts with a girl being kidnapped at a service station while her boyfriend waits in the car. Then the story picks up three years later with the boyfriend still searching for her while her killer monitors his movements. From very early on we know who the killer is, and we’re fairly sure that the girl is long dead. What makes the film special is that it retains its tension despite giving so much away so early on. There’s an incredible balance of likability and abject coldness in Bernard-Pierre Donnadieu’s performance as the villain; the character is a seemingly respectable family man who, unbeknownst to his wife and children, is in fact a textbook sociopath. Watching him as he patiently plans out the crime makes us feel like we are watching a car crash in slow motion. We know there’s nothing we can do to stop what’s going to happen; in fact it’s already happened. Stanley Kubrick cited this as the most terrifying film he had ever seen. And I can see why."