Share a song that makes you want to call an old friend.

This is a lovely, thought-provoking question. I think there must be at least one song—if not more—that reminds me of each old friend I'm still in touch with, people I could easily start a conversation with today. What's sadder are the songs that remind me of friends I've lost touch with over the years, people I seem unlikely to ever hear from again. Those hit harder as you travel further down the road.

Share a song that feels like it was written specifically for you.

I'm going to dodge this one and instead choose a song someone once said reminded them of me: Dedicated Follower of Fashion by The Kinks. A bit of a backhanded compliment, I think, but an observation not entirely without merit.

What's a song you only listen to when you're completely alone?

Lots of songs about loneliness immediately spring to mind, but choosing one of those wouldn't really answer this question. What do I listen to when completely alone? It could be a record I know annoys other people—there are a few of those. Or it could be something suited to quiet, solitary contemplation, in which case Autechre's Amber, which slips past glassily, is the perfect companion.

What's your favorite opening line from any song?

I'd have to say Life on Mars, which starts fairly innocuously—especially when quoted in isolation from the rest of the lyrics and without the soaring musical accompaniment—but acts as a way of drawing you into strange, dream-like territory as the song unfolds.

It's a God awful small affair To the girl with the mousey hair

Share a song that makes you feel invincible.

When I need to feel invincible, I turn to Metallica. This connection formed while trying to get by working a job in a nightmare corporate environment, but nowadays it usually means washing the car, mowing the lawn, or tackling other household chores. Pretty much anything from the first four albums will do, but Holier Than Thou always hits the spot.

What song do you turn to when you need to cry?

Almost anything from Beck's Sea Change does it for me, none more so than Lonesome Tears. Such a beautiful, melancholy record—full of songs that resonate with heartbreak and loneliness, and for me, charged with bitter memories of a crushing break-up.

What song feels like a personal anthem right now?

After their first two albums, I lost interest in Oasis. I don't own any of their later albums on CD or vinyl, but since they hit the road and the news again this summer, I started listening to Time Flies…1994–2009, a compilation of all 27 of their UK singles. To my surprise, I actually liked most of the later tracks, especially I'm Outta Time. Were they misunderstood, or did they just want to be? Whatever the case may be, it's a song I identify with right now, and have played enough recently to qualify as anthemic in my book.

What's a song that feels larger than life to you?

This isn't so much a song that sounds larger than life—though it arguably does—but one where a live version outshines the studio recording. For whatever reason, the studio process didn't capture it, and something essential about the artist or song gets lost. So for me, the version of Timeless Melody recorded for the BBC session hosted by Nicky Campbell will always be the definitive one.

Share a song that represents rebellion or freedom to you.

It would have to be something by the Stones, wouldn't it? Rebellious songs were their stock in trade. The menacing-sounding Jumpin' Jack Flash fits the bill, but I think another song exemplifies it better—one sung by Keith Richards, who in his 1970s guise must surely be the ultimate emblem of rock 'n' roll rebellion. So Happy it is—not about rebellion for its own sake, but in pursuit of happiness and living in the present moment.

What's a song with lyrics you didn't fully understand until you were older?

In the early 2000s, I got interested in Brian Eno and picked up his first solo album, Here Come The Warm Jets. I had a hard time with it at first, so it sat on a shelf unloved. Over the years, though, it grew on me. I always liked the way Dead Finks Don't Talk sounds, but couldn't make head or tail of the lyrics—what they meant or what I should think about them. It wasn't until later that I got right with the ambiguity. You can't know everything or always be right. The lack of obvious meaning leaves space for listeners to draw their own conclusions.