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 Zimbabwe and from Bremen.
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 1962 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 Kerri Chandler to the dance kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band. All the underground hits.
All Mo-Dettes tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Charles Mingus record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Cure record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Rod Modell,
Brothers Johnson,
Bobby Byrd,
Thee Headcoats,
the Human League,
David Axelrod,
Cluster,
The Saints,
Liliput,
Gang Starr,
Grey Daturas,
The Doors,
Skaos,
Smog,
Todd Terry,
The Searchers,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Pagans,
Shuggie Otis,
Arab on Radar,
The Gun Club,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
June of 44,
48th St. Collective,
Ludus,
Arthur Verocai,
Fat Boys,
China Crisis,
Jeru the Damaja,
Boz Scaggs,
Motorama,
Symarip,
The Real Kids,
The Cramps,
Malaria!,
The Invisible,
Spoonie Gee,
Marc Almond,
The Golliwogs,
Theoretical Girls,
Neu!,
Deakin,
The Mummies,
The Fugs,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Chris & Cosey,
The Raincoats,
Supertramp,
KRS-One,
Black Flag,
Letta Mbulu,
Morten Harket,
Crash Course in Science,
Ossler,
Radiopuhelimet,
Donald Byrd,
X-Ray Spex,
The Fortunes,
The Busters,
Susan Cadogan,
Selector Dub Narcotic, Selector Dub Narcotic, Selector Dub Narcotic, Selector Dub Narcotic.
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.