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 Sudan 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 1968 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and Salvador.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 1976 at the first Soft Boys practice in a loft in Cambridge.
I was working on the arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 John Foxx to the grunge 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 T. Rex. All the underground hits.
All Jeff Lynne tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Throbbing Gristle 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a David Axelrod record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Drexciya,
Laurel Aitken,
The Litter,
John Holt,
the Fania All-Stars,
Pussy Galore,
Wire,
Q and Not U,
The Knickerbockers,
The Slits,
Fat Boys,
PIL,
Brick,
Shuggie Otis,
Arab on Radar,
Deadbeat,
Rotary Connection,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
The J.B.'s,
The Beau Brummels,
Youth Brigade,
Mars,
Sällskapet,
Terrestrial Tones,
Von Mondo,
Sugar Minott,
Tommy Roe,
Slick Rick,
Arcadia,
Lindisfarne,
Television,
Lucky Dragons,
Lalo Schifrin,
The Dirtbombs,
David Bowie,
the Soft Cell,
Sonic Youth,
Main Source,
Lebanon Hanover,
R.M.O.,
Supertramp,
Robert Wyatt,
Oblivians,
The Remains,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Juan Atkins,
The Real Kids,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Shoche,
Radiohead,
Anthony Braxton,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Barclay James Harvest,
Spandau Ballet,
Jacques Brel,
The Fortunes,
Kaleidoscope,
Lee Hazlewood,
Q65,
Guru Guru,
Neil Young,
Al Stewart,
Amon Düül II,
Unwound, Unwound, Unwound, Unwound.
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.