Maurice Sendak has died this week aged 83, and I’m mentioning it here because this author and illustrator has had an enormous influence on me – he must have, because ever since I read Where The Wild Things Are as a boy, his monsters have never left me.
I don’t think you get to choose your influences, they choose you. What makes a song resonate within your soul? What makes a book speak to you and leave you speechless? Why do I like Marmite? These are not conscious decisions; these are just inexplicable biological reactions. Little bits of magic. And it shapes you and you have no control over that. I didn’t go out of my way to hate beatboxing; my biological makeup reacted to the utter ear-bleeding nonsense and told me that it was pointless shit. I like to think Sendak would have hated it too.