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 Iceland and from London.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 1969 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manila and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 1978 at the first Visage practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Gian Franco Pienzio to the electroclash kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark. All the underground hits.
All Erasure tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Scott Walker + Sunn O))) record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Zero Boys record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Brass Construction,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Tears for Fears,
The Star Department,
Cecil Taylor,
Sonny Sharrock,
The Busters,
The Vogues,
La Düsseldorf,
Lightning Bolt,
Hot Snakes,
Faraquet,
Siglo XX,
Kaleidoscope,
Jacob Miller,
Pagans,
Quantec,
Lyres,
Crash Course in Science,
Tomorrow,
The Monochrome Set,
Newcleus,
The Pop Group,
Fat Boys,
Country Teasers,
Tres Demented,
The Cowsills,
Bootsy Collins,
The Fire Engines,
Con Funk Shun,
Stiv Bators,
John Holt,
Anakelly,
Bill Wells,
Nirvana,
Man Eating Sloth,
Vainqueur,
Suburban Knight,
Soft Machine,
Warsaw,
Warren Ellis,
Gregory Isaacs,
Lakeside,
Al Stewart,
Sandy B,
Thee Headcoats,
The Mummies,
Marine Girls,
R.M.O.,
Boredoms,
The United States of America,
Kurtis Blow,
Scion,
Dead Boys,
Public Enemy,
Echospace,
Mission of Burma,
Q65,
Barry Ungar,
Dual Sessions,
The Fall, The Fall, The Fall, The Fall.
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.