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 Monaco and from Calgary.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic 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 1964 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Seoul and Jakarta.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow 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 Wire practice in a loft in Watford.
I was working on the clarinet 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 Stockholm Monsters to the techno kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane. All the underground hits.
All Sister Nancy tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Shoche 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Charles Mingus record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Loose Ends,
The Skatalites,
Donny Hathaway,
Traffic Nightmare,
Blossom Toes,
Minnie Riperton,
The Velvet Underground,
This Heat,
Gong,
The Count Five,
Smog,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Judy Mowatt,
The Flesh Eaters,
Sällskapet,
Jeff Mills,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
The Last Poets,
Harmonia,
The Index,
Marshall Jefferson,
Sam Rivers,
Newcleus,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Drive Like Jehu,
Lindisfarne,
Monolake,
Jeru the Damaja,
The Neon Judgement,
Warren Ellis,
DJ Style,
Sarah Menescal,
The Monks,
Pharoah Sanders,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Gregory Isaacs,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Grandmaster Flash,
Brass Construction,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Arthur Verocai,
Average White Band,
Pierre Henry,
Country Teasers,
Bobby Sherman,
Laurel Aitken,
The Happenings,
The Zeros,
The Techniques,
June of 44,
John Lydon,
Connie Case,
Harry Pussy,
Heaven 17,
The Slits,
Lou Christie,
Aloha Tigers,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
the Bar-Kays,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Barrington Levy,
The Tremeloes, The Tremeloes, The Tremeloes, The Tremeloes.
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.