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 Equatorial Guinea and from Portland.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle show in London.
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 1967 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Salvador 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 1984 at the first Arcadia practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the theremin 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 Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade to the rock kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Black Moon. All the underground hits.
All The Cosmic Jokers tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Matthew Bourne 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mary Jane Girls record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
The Flesh Eaters,
Magazine,
Fugazi,
Bill Wells,
Mad Mike,
Andrew Hill,
Nils Olav,
Eric Dolphy,
Neil Young,
Jerry's Kids,
The Associates,
The Moody Blues,
In Retrospect,
Susan Cadogan,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Mission of Burma,
Theoretical Girls,
Procol Harum,
Sonny Sharrock,
Ken Boothe,
Bad Manners,
Arthur Verocai,
The Remains,
Hasil Adkins,
Surgeon,
Suicide,
Essential Logic,
Wally Richardson,
T.S.O.L.,
Au Pairs,
Bootsy Collins,
Panda Bear,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
The Divine Comedy,
Gerry Rafferty,
The Vogues,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Junior Murvin,
Fad Gadget,
Nation of Ulysses,
The Mummies,
The Toasters,
Gong,
Shoche,
Cal Tjader,
Moss Icon,
The Trojans,
Rotary Connection,
Black Flag,
Joe Smooth,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Gastr Del Sol,
ABC,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Buzzcocks,
The Index,
The Standells,
Sun City Girls,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282, Thinking Fellers Union Local 282, Thinking Fellers Union Local 282, Thinking Fellers Union Local 282.
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.