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 Equatorial Guinea and from Manchester.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Josef K show in Edinburgh.
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 1965 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Halifax and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Barbara Tucker to the rap 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 the Sonics. All the underground hits.
All Junior Murvin tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Franke record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash 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 clarinet and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Throbbing Gristle record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Agent Orange,
Bobby Sherman,
Donny Hathaway,
Black Pus,
Matthew Halsall,
Fear,
Rufus Thomas,
Essential Logic,
Fela Kuti,
David Axelrod,
The United States of America,
Schoolly D,
kango's stein massive,
the Germs,
X-Ray Spex,
The Litter,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Sight & Sound,
Con Funk Shun,
Peter & Gordon,
Erykah Badu,
Black Bananas,
Los Fastidios,
The Alarm Clocks,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Sexual Harrassment,
The Fall,
The Saints,
Smog,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Kevin Saunderson,
Sam Rivers,
The Sisters of Mercy,
The Gories,
The Raincoats,
John Foxx,
Bill Wells,
Deakin,
Fluxion,
Duran Duran,
Flamin' Groovies,
Nas,
Sixth Finger,
These Immortal Souls,
Soft Machine,
K-Klass,
Kaleidoscope,
Public Image Ltd.,
Sandy B,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
U.S. Maple,
Television,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Boz Scaggs,
Michelle Simonal,
B.T. Express,
The Fortunes,
The Blues Magoos,
Donald Byrd,
Niagra,
The Young Rascals,
Jeff Mills,
Nick Fraelich,
D'Angelo,
Unrelated Segments, Unrelated Segments, Unrelated Segments, Unrelated Segments.
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.