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 Marshall Islands and from Bremen.
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 1962 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Taipei.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mumbai 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 guitar 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 Outsiders to the punk kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Stiv Bators tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Nick Fraelich record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock 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 an arpeggiator and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Black Bananas record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The New Christs,
Kerrie Biddell,
The Moody Blues,
Sexual Harrassment,
Smog,
Ultra Naté,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
The Smoke,
Vainqueur,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Piero Umiliani,
Ultimate Spinach,
The Buckinghams,
Suicide,
Max Romeo,
Roy Ayers,
the Slits,
Rapeman,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Kaleidoscope,
Gabor Szabo,
Spoonie Gee,
Glenn Branca,
The Monochrome Set,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Theoretical Girls,
Joyce Sims,
The Durutti Column,
Skarface,
Index,
Deakin,
The Techniques,
The Raincoats,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
The Dirtbombs,
Inner City,
Sparks,
Cal Tjader,
Letta Mbulu,
Kevin Saunderson,
Joensuu 1685,
The Gun Club,
The Selecter,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Dorothy Ashby,
8 Eyed Spy,
Chrome,
David Bowie,
Oblivians,
Arab on Radar,
Electric Prunes,
Chris Corsano,
Zero Boys,
The Trojans,
The Remains,
Funkadelic,
Simply Red,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
X-101,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Stockholm Monsters,
Donald Byrd,
Subhumans, Subhumans, Subhumans, Subhumans.
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.