I have a vision in my hand that the labels have these vaults, like Scrooge McDuck, except instead of gold coins they have these demo CDs, and sometimes they just go in there and take a swim.

I can't remember who it was - maybe Brian Eno - but some important musician guy said he recorded ambient noise from a city street and after he listened to these field recordings for the millionth time, it was like, "Oh yeah, at 1:23, that's where the car horn comes in." So when you're doing stuff like this, and you've been working on it for a year, you're like, "Oh yeah man, that makes perfect sense!" And then you forget when you give it to people, they're bewildered.

We're not clever enough to picture something and say, "Our music is going to be Jackson Pollock meets Oprah Winfrey" and then go about achieving that. I was in a band called Olive Loaf - it was the first thing I ever did when I first started playing the guitar when I was 12, and it was sort of like Ween, although I didn't know Ween even existed at the time.

Can you imagine in 1968 some band being like, "Vietnam is the place to be!"

I've always thought, "I could probably write one of these country songs and send them to these places and make up this fake country band. Wouldn't it be awesome to have a completely parallel career and have nobody know about it?" I think I could get away with it. I'd be the guy from Oklahoma with country cred.

In the process of making the record, I was just so bored all the time working whatever stupid job. I felt like a stagnant pond that has algae and mildew and weird animal cells, and I felt like if I sat around not doing anything long enough, that I'd probably end up going a little bit crazy.

It's hard to convince people when you haven't done anything that the things you're working on are worthy of spending their time and money on: like, "Oh man, I write really great songs, I promise!"