Infinitely Losing My Edge
Yeah, I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
The kids are coming up from behind.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids from Costa Rica and from Lille.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South London.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids whose footsteps I hear when they get on the decks.
I'm losing my edge to the internet seekers who can tell me every member of every good group from 1969 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Seoul.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia kids in little jackets and borrowed nostalgia for the unremembered nineties.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
I can hear the footsteps every night on the decks.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983 at the first Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart started up his first band.
I told him, "Don't do it that way. You'll never make a dime."
I was there.
I was the first guy playing Maurizio to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
Everybody thought I was crazy.
We all know.
I was there.
I was there.
I've never been wrong.
But I'm losing my edge to better-looking people with better ideas and more talent.
And they're actually really, really nice.
I'm losing my edge.
I heard you have a compilation of every good song ever done by anybody.
Every great song by Pulsallama. All the underground hits.
All The Smiths tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Teenage Jesus and the Jerks record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Colin Newman record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Faust,
The Dead C,
The Moleskins,
Liliput,
The Gladiators,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
T.S.O.L.,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Tropical Tobacco,
the Slits,
Marvin Gaye,
Rufus Thomas,
The Golliwogs,
Ponytail,
Ken Boothe,
Scrapy,
Khruangbin,
Tomorrow,
Zero Boys,
Livin' Joy,
Graham Central Station,
Chris & Cosey,
Fluxion,
Yaz,
Yazoo,
Angry Samoans,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
The Black Dice,
Fat Boys,
Idris Muhammad,
Black Sheep,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
John Holt,
Pylon,
Piero Umiliani,
Moebius,
Wire,
Scratch Acid,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
DJ Sneak,
Stetsasonic,
Radiopuhelimet,
Kurtis Blow,
Aswad,
Beasts of Bourbon,
New Age Steppers,
The Offenders,
Whodini,
Donny Hathaway,
Althea and Donna,
Amon Düül II,
Slick Rick,
Flamin' Groovies,
Interpol,
The Durutti Column,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
The Index,
Hasil Adkins,
Robert Wyatt,
Grey Daturas,
Lalo Schifrin,
Subhumans,
Wings,
Boz Scaggs, Boz Scaggs, Boz Scaggs, Boz Scaggs.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.