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 Norway and from Mumbai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1967 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Halifax 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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the organ 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 Rufus Thomas to the grime 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 Louis and Bebe Barron. All the underground hits.
All Mark Hollis tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Drexciya 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Das Ding record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Circle Jerks,
Barrington Levy,
The Move,
Jandek,
Magma,
Erasure,
8 Eyed Spy,
Ituana,
Urselle,
Sandy B,
China Crisis,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Eyeless In Gaza,
The Standells,
Public Image Ltd.,
Throbbing Gristle,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Reuben Wilson,
The Barracudas,
Derrick May,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Quadrant,
John Holt,
Althea and Donna,
Wire,
Gichy Dan,
Pantytec,
Angry Samoans,
The Wake,
Nik Kershaw,
The Beau Brummels,
World's Most,
Hot Snakes,
The Real Kids,
The Detroit Cobras,
Marmalade,
Desert Stars,
The Skatalites,
The American Breed,
Pierre Henry,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Qualms,
James White and The Blacks,
Radiohead,
Brass Construction,
Anthony Braxton,
Joe Finger,
Darondo,
Blancmange,
Au Pairs,
Sugar Minott,
The Residents,
Derrick Morgan,
Kayak,
Theoretical Girls,
The Smiths,
The Moody Blues,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Cameo,
Lalann,
The Gladiators, The Gladiators, The Gladiators, The Gladiators.
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.