"On the first Strokes tour we had a Libertines demo on the bus. I remember thinking 'Oh man there's already a British version of The Strokes? That's fast, this is only the first tour!' Not that they were, but that was the perception around them. What is so cool about The Libertines is in fact that they're in that tradition of great British bands that really draw on being British to make a very special version of rock. The Sex Pistols are in that tradition, The Clash, all these really cool English bands that make you want to be some sort of geezer and know what a "two bob cunt" is. So being label mates with The Libertines and becoming friend with them they indoctrinated me into this whole British universe: listening to Chas And Dave, that comedian Tony Hancock and all kinds of weird British shit. In a way they became this vital group that almost channeled Lord Byron or Percy Shelley. They were almost a subculture unto themselves. At a time when England is in such a flux, their music reminds everyone why people love what being British is. The way they re-appropriated Albion and Blake's vision of England, it was just really beautiful. Their version of British, for me as a New Yorker, immediately made me want to learn about London and go to all these places. Their first record was a calling for people to learn about the history of England, their music made you want to educate yourself, but it is also so fucking catchy. I covered their song 'What A Waster' while they were in New York. They were recording 'Don't Look Back Into The Sun' at a studio but they were making these endless demo tapes that eventually appeared as the 'Babyshambles Sessions'. My version of their song was recorded while they were doing those. For me they were a band that birthed a new romantic movement in England."

"Nobody knows about Melanie in America really, and you know, I only just realised that she was such a big influence on me. The way she sings, absolutely. People would be like, 'What are your influences?', and they would compare me to Janis, but that's because they don't know Melanie. 'Lay Down'? It gives me chills. I got to cover that with Mark Ronson and his band, it was one of the best moments of my fucking life. 'Animal Crackers'? She's so hilarious. I have this haircut because I wanted to look like her on the cover of Gather Me. And I think one of the most beautiful songs in the fucking world, especially as someone who plays music, is 'Look What They've Done To My Song Ma'. That's one of my favourites. I love her so much. But of all her album I couldn't take Photograph off. See, I could have chosen 13 Melanie records! I just had to pick one, so I picked Photograph. 'Cyclone' is such a big song for me. I found it at a yard sale, or maybe a Good Will, but I got it second-hand and it was already really worn out and that's where I started getting really deep and I would look for her everywhere. A lot of times she was on compilations or Greatest Hits compilations, and it would be so weird, because apart from 'Brand New Key', you didn't hear her on the radio, and you'd think, where was this a hit? I would look for her everywhere. And the thing is, you had to work so hard to get a jam back then. Now you can just Google it up, but that's what started me onto Melanie, my mom singing 'Brand New Key' to me and then finding the record and going from there. Every time, if I looked hard, I would find one of her records."

"I've been a Cope fan since I was 15. He was a guy that nobody else was into, at least in my town - I'm from Temple, Texas. When you're that age and there's something you know about that you love obsessively and no one else is into it, it becomes a personal thing. I had all the records. It seemed like every time I would go down to Austin and went down to Sound Exchange there would always be a new Julian Cope record. Something older that I had never heard before or something new he was putting out that was not a main release but sort of a side release or he was releasing it itself. It sort of fed the obsession a bit. And then he was really into The 13 Floor Elevators and The 13 Floor Elevators were from Austin and then he put out a record called Droolian which had an Austin PO Box on the back and I didn't understand why that was. He wasn't here but somehow it had an Austin PO Box. I had a weird personal connections to those records. Out of all of his records, why pick Jehovahkill? I picked that one because that to me is the peak of his experimentation. It's also really great songwriting. It's a very, very kraut-influenced record. it's an expansive record. It was three sides. Not a full double album but it was three sides and on the fourth side you had an etching. He was always doing things like that. He was putting thought into it. He was the first artist I ever listened to that ran music in the run out grooves of the record. He wrote little inscriptions in the run out grooves of the record and there was all these hints and mysteries and all that stuff adds up to something. I'm not sure what right now but at the time I was just obsessed. I used to cover 'Upwards at 45 degrees' at solo shows, it's a great one. "

"This song polarises opinions. I suppose when people think of Don Henley, or the Eagles, they just think of Dads. It is Dad music, I guess, but there’s something special about this song. It’s hard to describe and hard to pin down. It’s so evocative – it makes you feel nostalgic for something you haven’t even experienced. There’s this word in Japanese, ‘Setsunai’. There isn’t really an English equivalent, but ‘bittersweet’ is close. Setsunai describes a feeling between bittersweet, painful and wistful, and ever since I heard the word I have loved looking for this feeling in songs. When I heard that Japanese word it lit up a lot of things for me. My favourite records have that feeling – that bittersweet longing that you’ve not necessarily experienced first-hand. This song has Setsunai. It feels like Don Henley didn’t necessarily mean to transmit that feeling and it’s a weird accident that he did. It’s got a quality to it that sums up everything I love about music. Some people will hear it and won’t get it, but I think it’s one of the best songs of all time. Some people might say it’s just an overplayed song, but it’s more than that. There’s the dream, the ideal on top, then underneath is the sadness or the end. It reminds me of America. It a strange thing, but I often feel more at home in America than anywhere in England. Places in America feel way more like a hometown to me than England does. And these lyrics are about the American summer, the loop that goes on consistently underneath – the insistence of that loop to me is linked to driving through America. It morphed from a song I would hear everywhere when I was a kid, on car radios or café radios or whatever, to a song I heard objectively and realised how great it was"

"I don’t know why because I’m almost never in Los Angeles, but I went to the premiere of Knocked Up. Some cousin of Judd Apatow‘s was going to propose to his girlfriend, but was shy, so what Judd did was brought up the cousin and his girlfriend onto stage and Jack Black hid behind, knelt on the floor behind the cousin, and very noisily proposed to her. So the first time I saw the film I was in a very good mood having had such a brilliant start. But Knocked Up, like The Hangover which is also wonderful, is full of really really funny things; particularly the friends. When that group of friends is together, everyone has a sort of weird idiosyncratic joke which is perfectly expressed every time they appear, from the guy with the beard downwards. There are so many other funny things — when Kristen Wiig is rude to Katherine Heigl when she gets her job, and she’s going on about how lucky she is to get the job, it’s completely hilarious. Both Seth Rogen and Katherine are so charming and funny, and it’s so modern, on the edge and hard; a real romantic film. I think that if romantic comedies are meant to be romantic and funny, then that’s a perfect example. It’s very relaxed and at ease with itself, and doesn’t try too hard, or doesn’t seem to be trying very hard, and I think that’s very much to do with how Judd makes his movies. I’m sure he knows exactly what he wants, but it does have a slightly improvisational edge to it, because he does work with people that he knows very well, so there’s a naturalness to it, and I think it’s a great modern film. I haven’t seen Funny People yet, but I have very high hopes for it, I’m looking forward to it a great deal."

"Well, speaking of authenticity, if you are going to be authentic then you really have to do it right. On the complete opposite side of the spectrum, what Bert Jansch was doing as a young man was deeply authentic and was genuinely very weird. Bert was a young person very much of his time but was making music that almost sounded ancient. From the guitar-playing point of view, he was innovating on an acoustic guitar in a way that was as powerful as Pete Townshend with electricity in The Who and as intricate as what Jimi Hendrix was doing with his space rock-blues. Vocally, Bert was almost punky and in the way he and his peers went about their lives, he was one of the very first lo-fi musicians - and that was 40 or 50 years ago. Bert was one of my few real heroes. I got to be friends with him for about ten years before he died. He was an amazing person and because we were friends I got to find out that the lifestyle choice of the folkies in Soho in the 60s was a very deliberate and radical. They made certain choices and the fact their music was not in the charts was no accident. In Bert's case, he was the king of the UK beats as a result of the beat poet influence on his generation. Also, he was tuned into the political climate of the time and things like the CND movement and the radical student scene. Bert was a lot more than an earnest folky with an acoustic guitar. I particularly like his second record. The album before it [1965's Bert Jansch] is more revered and held up by most journalists as being the seminal one, but I think the songs are better on It Don't Bother Me, particularly the title track. The fact that they were both recorded in a kitchen at his mate's house is another reason why it has never dated."

"This goes back a long time for me. This was a real defining record for Supergrass around '95 when we were first starting out. It was on the tour bus all the time and I remember our tour manager at the time really loving it. He'd wake us up every morning knocking on our door going, 'baby's on fire!', doing this mad Eno impression and that would always lift us up and make us laugh. There were so many lyrics that we'd sing at each other. I'd meet Danny and go, 'Cindy tells me…' It had this really long lasting effect on us. It's brilliant, just brilliant. It's Eno being kind of clever but dumb, sophisticated but raw and I think it's brilliant. I love his voice and the double-tracking on it and I think it ended up being quite an iconic sound. It's very unique. And for all of his technical ability, I love that he plays dumb on some of these tracks, you know, like on 'Needles In The Camel's Eye' and the guitars are big, filthy, dirty and horrible things. I love it. We almost did work with Brian Eno. We had a meeting with him in Paris before Diamond Hoo Ha and I can't remember exactly what happened but I think our timing schedules didn't work out. It was something frustrating that meant we couldn't work with him. It's weird one. It's kind of like, are they different Brian Enos? Is it a danger to confuse the Here Come The Warm Jets Brian Eno thinking that he was going to walk into a studio with us and create something that gives you that feeling because he's a different person now. I think he's amazing and he's proved to be still a musical force. An incredible guy and he was a really lovely chap when we met him."

"This is weird. I only came across them because one of our neighbour's kids had a band and I used to go around and help them out by plugging things back in properly or they'd come round to mine and I would do them a demo. But they used to play me records and I used to ask 'what is that?' - one of these bands were Biffy Clyro. They didn't really register with me because they were a bit too intricate but I was driving home one night, coming up Kingston Hill and this record came on and I had to pull over to the side of the road as I was shedding tears. And the song was 'Many Of Horror'. And I thought 'this is the best thing I've heard in quite a while' but I didn't know it was Biffy Clyro! I just went 'ooh!'. I went home, bought it on iTunes and played the song about 25 to 30 times, crying my eyes out. Something in that song flipped me out completely. It's quite an anthemic, emotional song. I decided I needed to email the guy who produced the record and I just said 'I've just heard the song and it's completely and utterly blown me away'. He mailed back and said 'thanks very much for that, really appreciate it'. I've never done that before or since! But fuck me, music can still do that [to you]. When I listened to the rest of the album, I was like 'what the hell is going on?'. It takes some energy to get into it because it's fierce – there's some odd shit going on. I'm yet to see them live. They played Reading or whatever and I recorded it off the television and I've watched it on my own full tilt, having had a couple of beers or glass of wine. Just amazing!"