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 Belize and from Taipei.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide show in New York.
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 1961 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Black Pus to the punk 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 The Smiths. All the underground hits.
All Matthew Halsall tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Josef K 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Searchers record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Andrew Hill,
Roy Ayers,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Black Pus,
Nils Olav,
Peter & Gordon,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Vladislav Delay,
Au Pairs,
The Saints,
Lou Christie,
Icehouse,
June of 44,
Stetsasonic,
X-101,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Sonny Sharrock,
Mandrill,
Roxy Music,
Flamin' Groovies,
Brand Nubian,
Gang of Four,
The Misunderstood,
UT,
Johnny Clarke,
Black Bananas,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Laurel Aitken,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Suicide,
Eli Mardock,
Sexual Harrassment,
The Fuzztones,
Jeff Mills,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Soft Cell,
Neil Young,
The Human League,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Jerry Gold Smith,
The Cowsills,
Model 500,
Barry Ungar,
Buzzcocks,
the Swans,
Rod Modell,
Jeff Lynne,
Wally Richardson,
Ken Boothe,
Black Flag,
In Retrospect,
The Angels of Light,
Lucky Dragons,
Deadbeat,
Kerrie Biddell,
This Heat,
Idris Muhammad,
Duran Duran, Duran Duran, Duran Duran, Duran Duran.
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.