Instead of just looking back, whiplash-style, I can assume there's something else coming. Time just folds over itself, like origami.

All the girls who have photos of them at parties, like, "Woo!" - that's what someone's going to see of their grandma.

When I stopped touring, it was like trying to stop a bullet train or a giant lead ball falling from a 100 stories up - it's momentum and it doesn't just stop. I drew a line in the calendar and made it a brick wall and just stopped dead. There was no other way. It would've taken another 100 years to slow down slowly. I had to let myself imagine a calendar with no lines; when every single day is being predetermined six months in advance, there's no more fluidity to time.

Now, there's just so much imagery. Imagine what our grandkids are going to be able to see of us?

I think that's more a reflection of the fact I've never been a student of any particular school of writing, or even listening.

I wrote the album [Metals] in the fall. In about four months, I went from zero to finished. It usually takes forever.

There are certain parts of chords that resolve things and tie a bow, and others that keep things open and unanswered.