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 Qatar and from Edmonton.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1964 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Seoul.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 1983 at the first Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 James Chance & The Contortions to the rock 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 Stiv Bators. All the underground hits.
All Patti Smith tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Nirvana 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Thinking Fellers Union Local 282 record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Easy Going,
Joe Finger,
Mantronix,
Accadde A,
The Buckinghams,
Sonny Sharrock,
Echospace,
Whodini,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Laurel Aitken,
Bronski Beat,
Electric Prunes,
Sandy B,
Rod Modell,
T.S.O.L.,
David Bowie,
the Normal,
Warsaw,
Banda Bassotti,
Henry Cow,
Organ,
The Real Kids,
Ituana,
K-Klass,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Monolake,
Rapeman,
Alton Ellis,
Max Romeo,
Skriet,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
DNA,
Don Cherry,
Siglo XX,
Aaron Thompson,
Faust,
Soft Machine,
Porter Ricks,
The Knickerbockers,
Zero Boys,
The Litter,
Traffic Nightmare,
Depeche Mode,
Guru Guru,
Public Image Ltd.,
Byron Stingily,
Soft Cell,
Shuggie Otis,
Visage,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Television Personalities,
Make Up,
Barrington Levy,
Peter and Kerry,
Ten City,
Bizarre Inc.,
The Slackers,
The Move,
Lakeside,
Panda Bear,
Terry Callier, Terry Callier, Terry Callier, Terry Callier.
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.