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 Azerbaijan and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Soft Boys show in Cambridge.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lyon 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 Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the chamberlin 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 Eve St. Jones to the disco kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Skarface. All the underground hits.
All 8 Eyed Spy tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Hashim 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Robert Wyatt,
Davy DMX,
Guru Guru,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Gregory Isaacs,
Pussy Galore,
Jimmy McGriff,
The Skatalites,
Reuben Wilson,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Max Romeo,
Toni Rubio,
Nation of Ulysses,
Idris Muhammad,
Television,
Y Pants,
The Gap Band,
Laurel Aitken,
The Raincoats,
Echospace,
Silicon Teens,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
The American Breed,
Outsiders,
Byron Stingily,
Lee Hazlewood,
Public Image Ltd.,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Bronski Beat,
Fluxion,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
World's Most,
Deepchord,
Barbara Tucker,
Drive Like Jehu,
Dorothy Ashby,
June Days,
DNA,
B.T. Express,
The Knickerbockers,
Nico,
Mars,
June of 44,
Harmonia,
Jacques Brel,
The Fall,
Stiv Bators,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
One Last Wish,
Susan Cadogan,
Brothers Johnson,
Pantytec,
Scott Walker,
Steve Hackett,
Lou Christie,
The Tremeloes,
Unrelated Segments,
Alphaville,
Black Sheep,
Bluetip, Bluetip, Bluetip, Bluetip.
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.