I've always been a bit wary of keyboards because there's an invisibility to it - you're not really hitting anything.

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 was in a crazy, private, awesome bubble again, and that's when I started to write.

I guess there are a lot of people out there that think they're supposed to define themselves in isolation, but that's not necessarily the case.

When I'm in a city that's just clean, concrete lines, I get really short of breath and confused. It's much more interesting to me when nature is creeping back and tearing the mortar apart between the bricks.

I just went to Europe, spent a year traveling, and then I came home with a finished album and said, "Hey everyone I'm back!" I gave everyone their lighters from Luxembourg, gave them the postcards from Italy and Rome, then said, "Hey look, I made a record, too" and played it for them. The general reaction was shock, because it was so different from what they've known me to do.

I'm in the countryside outside of Paris, in a beautiful old manor house. The studio is in the basement, but we decided to set everything up in the old parlor and dining-room area so we can look at each other and (at) the sunshine coming through the stained-glass windows. It's pretty idyllic, and I think it's spoiling me. I'll have to go back to regular life after this.