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 Bahrain and from Delhi.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Philadelphia.
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 Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the snare 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 Scrapy to the electroclash kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Drexciya. All the underground hits.
All Terror Squad Feat. Camron tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Fela Kuti record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz 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 snare and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sly & The Family Stone record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pussy Galore,
A Certain Ratio,
Eve St. Jones,
Blancmange,
Brass Construction,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
the Soft Cell,
Little Man,
Steve Hackett,
Kerri Chandler,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Sixth Finger,
Marshall Jefferson,
Yazoo,
Altered Images,
The Young Rascals,
Barry Ungar,
Charles Mingus,
Spandau Ballet,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Anakelly,
Swans,
Franke,
Kerrie Biddell,
Robert Görl,
The Pretty Things,
Lightning Bolt,
the Human League,
Con Funk Shun,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
The Tremeloes,
The Misunderstood,
Chrome,
Crispian St. Peters,
Skarface,
L. Decosne,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Icehouse,
Scientists,
The Smoke,
The Gladiators,
Throbbing Gristle,
Bush Tetras,
The Leaves,
Monks,
The American Breed,
Saccharine Trust,
Soft Cell,
the Normal,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Surgeon,
the Swans,
Mo-Dettes,
Rites of Spring,
Slave,
Lalo Schifrin,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Niagra,
The Fortunes,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Mars,
Brand Nubian, Brand Nubian, Brand Nubian, Brand Nubian.
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.