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 Croatia and from Stockholm.
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 1961 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manila and Winnipeg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 1977 at the first Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the linndrum 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 Warren Ellis to the funk kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Thinking Fellers Union Local 282. All the underground hits.
All Lakeside tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every A Flock of Seagulls record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mr. Review record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Slits,
Stereo Dub,
Bauhaus,
Roy Ayers,
Bang On A Can,
The Mummies,
Carl Craig,
Motorama,
Stockholm Monsters,
The Divine Comedy,
Sight & Sound,
48th St. Collective,
Tommy Roe,
The Pop Group,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Barry Ungar,
Crispian St. Peters,
Warsaw,
Cluster,
Pierre Henry,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Lindisfarne,
China Crisis,
Freddie Wadling,
The Flesh Eaters,
The Selecter,
Tim Buckley,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Fifty Foot Hose,
The Black Dice,
Andrew Hill,
Brothers Johnson,
Sun City Girls,
Audionom,
Cecil Taylor,
The Tremeloes,
Stetsasonic,
Television Personalities,
K-Klass,
Bronski Beat,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Grauzone,
Ludus,
Cal Tjader,
Kurtis Blow,
Joey Negro,
Mr. Review,
John Cale,
The Fortunes,
a-ha,
Camberwell Now,
Sex Pistols,
Livin' Joy,
A Certain Ratio,
the Normal,
FM Einheit,
Bobby Byrd,
Matthew Halsall,
The Moleskins,
Hot Snakes,
Lou Reed, Lou Reed, Lou Reed, Lou Reed.
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.