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 Chile and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South London.
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 1960 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Jakarta.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the güiro sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Vainqueur to the rap kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Davy DMX. All the underground hits.
All Sarah Menescal tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Roy Ayers Ubiquity 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Misunderstood record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pussy Galore,
Sandy B,
The Cowsills,
The Wake,
Wire,
Bobby Sherman,
Pylon,
K-Klass,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
The Raincoats,
Prince Buster,
Visage,
Nick Fraelich,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
The Young Rascals,
Wolf Eyes,
Alton Ellis,
Brand Nubian,
Throbbing Gristle,
Gang Gang Dance,
Scan 7,
Whodini,
The Birthday Party,
Judy Mowatt,
Outsiders,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Panda Bear,
The Pretty Things,
The American Breed,
Jandek,
Deadbeat,
Barry Ungar,
Barbara Tucker,
Popol Vuh,
Agitation Free,
Smog,
The Offenders,
Laurel Aitken,
June Days,
Donald Byrd,
Zapp,
Blancmange,
John Holt,
Faraquet,
Robert Wyatt,
The Standells,
The Fortunes,
Surgeon,
Hasil Adkins,
The Sonics,
Dark Day,
Albert Ayler,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Altered Images,
Animal Collective,
Steve Hackett,
Gastr Del Sol,
Spandau Ballet,
Max Romeo, Max Romeo, Max Romeo, Max Romeo.
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.