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 Mauritius and from Spokane.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1968 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Cairo 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 1976 at the first Buzzcocks practice in a loft in Bolton.
I was working on the 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Roxette to the rap 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 Morten Harket. All the underground hits.
All Sound Behaviour tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Richard Hell and the Voidoids record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Associates record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a 808.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Robert Wyatt,
Urselle,
Groovy Waters,
Ultravox,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Scratch Acid,
Henry Cow,
Bobby Byrd,
Traffic Nightmare,
The Dirtbombs,
Absolute Body Control,
Terry Callier,
Organ,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Wasted Youth,
Judy Mowatt,
The Angels of Light,
Livin' Joy,
Alphaville,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
The Smoke,
Toni Rubio,
Radio Birdman,
Pere Ubu,
Don Cherry,
The Motions,
Symarip,
The Human League,
Althea and Donna,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Kenny Larkin,
Radiopuhelimet,
The Modern Lovers,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
The Kinks,
Patti Smith,
Procol Harum,
The Music Machine,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Desert Stars,
Donald Byrd,
Sonny Sharrock,
The Leaves,
Crispian St. Peters,
Peter and Kerry,
Chris Corsano,
Jeru the Damaja,
Brothers Johnson,
Wally Richardson,
The Martian,
Monolake,
Severed Heads,
Los Fastidios,
Hashim,
Brick,
Bobby Sherman,
Eve St. Jones,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
John Foxx,
Smog,
Quadrant,
Amon Düül,
The Names, The Names, The Names, The Names.
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.