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 Kosovo and from Madrid.
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 1967 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Mexico City.
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 1978 at the first Visage practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Sex Pistols to the rock kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Matthew Bourne. All the underground hits.
All Bang on a Can All-Stars tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Idris Muhammad record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Alarm Clocks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Skriet,
Vainqueur,
Grandmaster Flash,
The Birthday Party,
Barry Ungar,
Public Enemy,
The Mojo Men,
The Trojans,
Cal Tjader,
Lightning Bolt,
The Grass Roots,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Alphaville,
B.T. Express,
Al Stewart,
The Red Krayola,
Deakin,
John Holt,
Stetsasonic,
Iggy Pop,
Japan,
Von Mondo,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Simply Red,
These Immortal Souls,
Rites of Spring,
The Misunderstood,
Thompson Twins,
Juan Atkins,
Aural Exciters,
Camron Feat. Jay Z And Juelz,
The Dead C,
World's Most,
Franke,
Althea and Donna,
Chris Corsano,
Morten Harket,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Stockholm Monsters,
Panda Bear,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
The Real Kids,
Delta 5,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Lee Hazlewood,
the Germs,
Schoolly D,
Pantytec,
Alice Coltrane,
Erykah Badu,
Basic Channel,
Theoretical Girls,
Boz Scaggs,
The Fugs,
Cheater Slicks,
John Coltrane,
The Stooges,
Patti Smith,
Scientists,
Camberwell Now,
Mandrill, Mandrill, Mandrill, Mandrill.
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.