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 Uzbekistan and from Lyon.
But I was there.
I was there in 1984.
I was there at the first Arcadia show in 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 1966 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Halifax and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school London 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 1971 at the first Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Slits to the grunge 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 Stiv Bators. All the underground hits.
All Leonard Cohen tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Letta Mbulu record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Organ record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Angry Samoans,
Piero Umiliani,
Johnny Osbourne,
cv313,
Tom Boy,
Arthur Verocai,
JFA,
Blossom Toes,
Maleditus Sound,
the Soft Cell,
The Monks,
Roy Ayers,
Joe Finger,
Marine Girls,
Aaron Thompson,
K-Klass,
Gregory Isaacs,
Symarip,
Reuben Wilson,
The Tremeloes,
Donny Hathaway,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Charles Mingus,
The Sound,
The Smiths,
Black Bananas,
Pere Ubu,
Josef K,
Terrestrial Tones,
The Wake,
Traffic Nightmare,
Negative Approach,
Bill Wells,
Bobby Womack,
The United States of America,
Masters at Work,
These Immortal Souls,
Girls At Our Best!,
The Velvet Underground,
L. Decosne,
Underground Resistance,
Lou Christie,
Pantaleimon,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Eurythmics,
Maurizio,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Loose Ends,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Lower 48,
The Techniques,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
X-102,
Toni Rubio,
Can,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Theoretical Girls,
Circle Jerks,
Rites of Spring,
The Young Rascals,
Bang On A Can,
The Busters,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines, Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines, Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines, Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines.
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.