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 Cambodia and from Delhi.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Wire show in Watford.
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 1968 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 1977 at the first Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Joey Negro to the disco 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 Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds. All the underground hits.
All Crash Course in Science tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Leaves record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 a spring reverb and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Angry Samoans record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Lalo Schifrin,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Idris Muhammad,
Dark Day,
Minny Pops,
Goldenarms,
Prince Buster,
Sound Behaviour,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Fat Boys,
Jesper Dahlback,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
The Sound,
Sparks,
Charles Mingus,
Jeff Lynne,
The Leaves,
Crash Course in Science,
Derrick Morgan,
These Immortal Souls,
Anthony Braxton,
The Beau Brummels,
Q65,
Porter Ricks,
Public Enemy,
New Age Steppers,
Little Man,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
The Last Poets,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Minor Threat,
The Zeros,
Pharoah Sanders,
Blancmange,
JFA,
Harmonia,
X-101,
The Cure,
Make Up,
The Doors,
Panda Bear,
James Chance & The Contortions,
The Saints,
Howard Jones,
Chris Corsano,
Sight & Sound,
Spandau Ballet,
Skarface,
Underground Resistance,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Arthur Verocai,
Blossom Toes,
Marshall Jefferson,
The Gap Band,
The Fall,
Main Source,
Jacques Brel,
The Golliwogs,
Mo-Dettes, Mo-Dettes, Mo-Dettes, Mo-Dettes.
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.