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 Angola and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1966 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 linndrum 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 Loose Ends to the punk kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Velvet Underground. All the underground hits.
All The Busters tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying a snare and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sandy B record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Minor Threat,
The Red Krayola,
Wolf Eyes,
The Sound,
Bobby Womack,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Popol Vuh,
The Modern Lovers,
Porter Ricks,
Joy Division,
Black Sheep,
Colin Newman,
The Black Dice,
Skriet,
Little Man,
Shoche,
Kaleidoscope,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Royal Trux,
Ohio Players,
Kenny Larkin,
Rod Modell,
Pulsallama,
Vainqueur,
James White and The Blacks,
Stetsasonic,
Max Romeo,
The Monks,
Au Pairs,
Minny Pops,
Joe Finger,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Underground Resistance,
Japan,
Q and Not U,
Bill Wells,
The Associates,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Mandrill,
Flamin' Groovies,
Gichy Dan,
Arab on Radar,
Curtis Mayfield,
Jawbox,
Amon Düül,
Easy Going,
Suicide,
Sällskapet,
Tim Buckley,
The Pop Group,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Arthur Verocai,
The United States of America,
Spandau Ballet,
Ice-T,
Barry Ungar,
Slick Rick,
Mars,
The Mojo Men,
Yazoo, Yazoo, Yazoo, Yazoo.
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.