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 Guinea-Bissau and from Copenhagen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1960 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 1975 at the first Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Sad Lovers and Giants to the crunk kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Jeff Lynne. All the underground hits.
All Matthew Bourne tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Unrelated Segments record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Swans record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
A Flock of Seagulls,
Das Ding,
Suicide,
Theoretical Girls,
Desert Stars,
New Order,
Barry Ungar,
Eric B and Rakim,
Lalann,
Tubeway Army,
Symarip,
Roxy Music,
The Detroit Cobras,
The Seeds,
Little Man,
Jeff Lynne,
Amon Düül,
Scott Walker,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Judy Mowatt,
Wally Richardson,
Bauhaus,
Shoche,
David Bowie,
Kenny Larkin,
Rod Modell,
B.T. Express,
Amazonics,
Johnny Clarke,
Quantec,
Severed Heads,
Ronnie Foster,
Depeche Mode,
Adolescents,
John Lydon,
8 Eyed Spy,
New York Dolls,
Groovy Waters,
The Offenders,
Lakeside,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Crispy Ambulance,
The United States of America,
Colin Newman,
Pierre Henry,
Tres Demented,
Eli Mardock,
Franke,
X-Ray Spex,
Mark Hollis,
The Divine Comedy,
Alphaville,
The Evens,
Interpol,
Brothers Johnson,
Lyres,
Glenn Branca,
Sugar Minott,
Sight & Sound,
Maleditus Sound,
D'Angelo,
Von Mondo, Von Mondo, Von Mondo, Von Mondo.
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.