It's a very tempting thing to try and relive your glory days when you get a little older and you worry that people have forgotten all about you.
If people would like to come to my concerts I'd love them to come. And if they like the music that I make, I love that too. But I do not make music for other people. I make it to please myself.
Our music has depth, and attempts philosophical thought and meaning with discussions of infinity, eternity and mortality. There is a line which people cross that turns it into some magical, mystical realm, for which I don't claim responsibility and don't hold any great truck with.
She was a stirrer of the pot, a lover of intrigue and distress, a creature who seemed to draw oxygen from the spectacle of people at each other's throat, everybody in a state of upset and talking about her.
A little girl came up to me the other day and said, 'Do you live here?' ... I have a great staff that helps me run the place, but I really love being out on the floor, helping people stock shelves and talking to customers.
It's an atheistic song, you could say, about how people live on in your dreams and your memories. And that's the only place I can meet up with these people. It's a very sad thing, remembered with joy.
I had a great party for my 50th birthday, and I'm having a nice little one this time. But it's sad how many people aren't going to be there, because they've died in the intervening years. There's been a lot of carnage around me, and I'm sort of looking at that list.