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 Papua New Guinea and from Tokyo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South 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 1968 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Jakarta 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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 The Dead C to the punk 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 Qualms. All the underground hits.
All Reagan Youth tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Mo-Dettes record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Black Pus record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Jeff Mills,
Tomorrow,
Saccharine Trust,
Gregory Isaacs,
Lou Reed,
Pussy Galore,
Marmalade,
Lou Christie,
Jawbox,
Nation of Ulysses,
KRS-One,
the Fania All-Stars,
Amon Düül,
Roger Hodgson,
Alice Coltrane,
Von Mondo,
Ultravox,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Swell Maps,
The Young Rascals,
Monolake,
Scott Walker,
Faust,
Max Romeo,
Rosa Yemen,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
The Real Kids,
Lebanon Hanover,
Bill Wells,
Heaven 17,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Fluxion,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Gerry Rafferty,
Sam Rivers,
Girls At Our Best!,
Don Cherry,
Stockholm Monsters,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Radio Birdman,
Motorama,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Bluetip,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Audionom,
Unwound,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Avey Tare,
The Divine Comedy,
The Saints,
the Slits,
Cheater Slicks,
Minny Pops,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Glambeats Corp.,
The Evens,
Agitation Free,
Suburban Knight,
Flash Fearless, Flash Fearless, Flash Fearless, Flash Fearless.
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.