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 Algeria and from Jakarta.
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 1965 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the arpeggiator 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 Nick Fraelich to the electroclash 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 Ultra Naté. All the underground hits.
All Black Flag tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Lou Reed & Metallica 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Wings record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Cramps,
Roy Ayers,
Lou Reed,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
The Victims,
Make Up,
Reagan Youth,
Buzzcocks,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Fifty Foot Hose,
DNA,
The Invisible,
the Slits,
X-Ray Spex,
Crash Course in Science,
Judy Mowatt,
Amazonics,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
The Pretty Things,
Hashim,
Lou Christie,
Tubeway Army,
Negative Approach,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Joensuu 1685,
Jesper Dahlback,
Tomorrow,
The Fortunes,
Ralphi Rosario,
Lindisfarne,
Black Flag,
Das Ding,
Brass Construction,
Ituana,
Schoolly D,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Derrick Morgan,
Maleditus Sound,
Gang Gang Dance,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Soft Cell,
Dave Gahan,
The Cowsills,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Charles Mingus,
The Moody Blues,
Nation of Ulysses,
Cal Tjader,
John Coltrane,
Yellowson,
Funkadelic,
Terrestrial Tones,
The Doors,
Ice-T,
Throbbing Gristle,
Lungfish,
Boogie Down Productions,
Aaron Thompson,
The Techniques,
The Slits,
The Smiths,
Vladislav Delay,
Swans, Swans, Swans, Swans.
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.