You can hear the profile of a sound, in retrospect, so much more clearly than you did at the time. And I think one of the things that's going to be nauseatingly characteristic about so much music of now is its glossy production values and its griddedness, the tightness of the way everything is locked together.

If I tried to make a commercial album, it would be a complete flop. I have no idea what the world at large likes.

Ambient music must be as ignorable as it is interesting.

I'm struck by the insidious, computer-driven tendency to take things out of the domain of muscular activity and put them into the domain of mental activity.

When I was at art college, the teachers who helped me were not the ones I agreed with, or the ones who encouraged me, but the ones who took very strong positions. Because if someone does that, you can find your own position in relation to it: what is it that I don't agree with? In the studio I want to articulate a position clearly enough so that other people can use it - or chuck it away if they don't want it.

The artists of the past who impressed me were the ones who really focused their work.

The point about melody and beat and lyric is that they exist to engage you in a very particular way. They want to occupy your attention.