Sometimes I write stuff that strangely predicts what’s going to happen in my life.
Suburban houses and tin sheds are often the objects of ridicule.
The arts don’t exist in isolation.
The assumption is that your personal life has to be a mess to create, but how much chaos can you allow in before it takes over?
The Heads were the only band on that scene that had a groove.
It’s not always been a happy marriage. I guess I wanted a quick fix.
I’ve been in beautiful landscapes where one is tempted to whip out a camera and take a picture. I’ve learned to resist that.
I wanted to be a secret agent and an astronaut, preferably at the same time.
All you needed was a couple of instruments and a few chords and you could be on an indie label.
Analysis is like a lobotomy. Who wants to have all their edges shaved off?
Architecture theory is very interesting.
I knew I wanted to have a doll of myself on the cover. I thought, I wanna see myself as a Ken doll.
I never listen to the radio unless I rent a car.
I resent the implication that I’m less of a musician and a worse person for not appreciating certain works.
I subscribe to the myth that an artist’s creativity comes from torment. Once that’s fixed, what do you draw on?
I think sometimes – not always – I write songs that are accessible.
I’m concerned that my technical skills have advanced to the point where I can get closer to what I’m aiming for, which is not such a good thing.
I’m very much into making lists and breaking things apart into categories.
The imminent demise of the large record companies as gatekeepers of the world’s popular music is a good thing, for the most part.
The making of music is profoundly affected by the market.