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 Senegal and from Hong Kong.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Wire show in Watford.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Halifax.
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 1983 at the first Bronski Beat practice in a loft in Brixton.
I was working on the sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 The Sound to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 R.M.O.. All the underground hits.
All The Monks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Buzzcocks 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Cowsills record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ken Boothe,
Glambeats Corp.,
Buzzcocks,
Gang Green,
Nik Kershaw,
Sister Nancy,
Don Cherry,
Essential Logic,
Danielle Patucci,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Harry Pussy,
The Sonics,
Jerry Gold Smith,
The Martian,
Gang Gang Dance,
Hot Snakes,
Crash Course in Science,
Talk Talk,
Patti Smith,
The Cure,
Model 500,
Agitation Free,
Crime,
Drexciya,
Fifty Foot Hose,
These Immortal Souls,
Mr. Review,
Organ,
The Residents,
Pole,
R.M.O.,
EPMD,
The Zeros,
cv313,
The Barracudas,
Amon Düül,
Dorothy Ashby,
The Skatalites,
the Normal,
Bauhaus,
Wire,
Glenn Branca,
Unwound,
Joyce Sims,
Newcleus,
Terrestrial Tones,
The Searchers,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Zero Boys,
Quantec,
Eric B and Rakim,
Tubeway Army,
Darondo,
Section 25,
Kerri Chandler,
Khruangbin,
Eric Dolphy,
Freddie Wadling,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Pierre Henry,
Andrew Hill, Andrew Hill, Andrew Hill, Andrew Hill.
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.