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 Burkina and from Spokane.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 1964 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bremen 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 Wire practice in a loft in Watford.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Kevin Saunderson to the punk kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Peter and Kerry. All the underground hits.
All Fort Wilson Riot tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Marc Almond record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a James White and The Blacks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Electric Prunes,
The Selecter,
The Dave Clark Five,
Q and Not U,
Black Bananas,
Joe Finger,
The Flesh Eaters,
The Black Dice,
Idris Muhammad,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Vladislav Delay,
Man Eating Sloth,
The Offenders,
Alice Coltrane,
Marvin Gaye,
Boogie Down Productions,
the Sonics,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Mission of Burma,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Television,
Wolf Eyes,
Derrick May,
Talk Talk,
The Stooges,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Public Enemy,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Steve Hackett,
John Coltrane,
The Count Five,
The Victims,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Matthew Bourne,
John Lydon,
Minny Pops,
Monolake,
The Shadows of Knight,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Quadrant,
The Star Department,
Anthony Braxton,
Scrapy,
The Mummies,
Maleditus Sound,
The Monochrome Set,
The Real Kids,
Matthew Halsall,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Agent Orange,
Piero Umiliani,
Loose Ends,
the Germs,
Faust,
Nico,
June Days,
Quantec,
Andrew Hill,
Groovy Waters,
Moebius,
Procol Harum, Procol Harum, Procol Harum, Procol Harum.
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.