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 Kosovo and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Wire show in Watford.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 1965 at the first Beefheart practice in a loft in Lancaster.
I was working on the sitar 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 Khruangbin to the dance kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Barclay James Harvest. All the underground hits.
All Hoover tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Q65 record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Ultra Naté record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a 808.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Count Five,
Blancmange,
Sexual Harrassment,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Khruangbin,
Rapeman,
Quadrant,
The Selecter,
Goldenarms,
The Doors,
H. Thieme,
Inner City,
Gang Gang Dance,
Boredoms,
The Misunderstood,
Stetsasonic,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Unrelated Segments,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Wolf Eyes,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
James White and The Blacks,
Pussy Galore,
Eurythmics,
Lungfish,
The Remains,
The Blackbyrds,
Matthew Halsall,
Mad Mike,
The Knickerbockers,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
The Smiths,
Brothers Johnson,
Delta 5,
Pet Shop Boys,
Popol Vuh,
Judy Mowatt,
The Walker Brothers,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Marshall Jefferson,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Excepter,
Alton Ellis,
Motorama,
The Fortunes,
Nas,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Eli Mardock,
Beasts of Bourbon,
The Modern Lovers,
Juan Atkins,
Traffic Nightmare,
The Golliwogs,
Subhumans,
Maleditus Sound,
Bluetip,
Gichy Dan,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Eric Copeland, Eric Copeland, Eric Copeland, Eric Copeland.
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.