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 New York.
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 1968 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Woodstock.
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 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the spring reverb 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 The Blues Magoos to the rock 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 Marine Girls. All the underground hits.
All Wally Richardson tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sad Lovers and Giants record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco 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 oboe and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Last Poets record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Henry Cow,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Skaos,
Quando Quango,
Minnie Riperton,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
David Axelrod,
EPMD,
Traffic Nightmare,
Terry Callier,
the Soft Cell,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
Stetsasonic,
The Fall,
Marmalade,
This Heat,
Gang Gang Dance,
kango's stein massive,
The Fuzztones,
Adolescents,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Kaleidoscope,
FM Einheit,
John Cale,
Cybotron,
Radiohead,
Vainqueur,
Max Romeo,
The Toasters,
Surgeon,
Rotary Connection,
Pierre Henry,
The Mighty Diamonds,
The Red Krayola,
Spandau Ballet,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Accadde A,
the Association,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Rufus Thomas,
Kevin Saunderson,
The Walker Brothers,
Donald Byrd,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Mars,
The Raincoats,
Pagans,
Marc Almond,
In Retrospect,
The Fire Engines,
Suburban Knight,
Albert Ayler,
Susan Cadogan,
Blossom Toes,
ABC,
Deepchord,
Brass Construction,
Sonic Youth,
Bob Dylan,
Public Image Ltd.,
Crispy Ambulance, Crispy Ambulance, Crispy Ambulance, Crispy Ambulance.
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.