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 Turkmenistan and from Hong Kong.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in New York and Mexico City.
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 1978 at the first Visage practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the mellotron 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 The Cure 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 James Chance & The Contortions. All the underground hits.
All Byron Stingily tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Litter record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Star Department record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Henry Cow,
Quando Quango,
Kurtis Blow,
Crash Course in Science,
Sex Pistols,
DNA,
UT,
Tropical Tobacco,
Hot Snakes,
Faust,
The Gladiators,
Au Pairs,
Severed Heads,
Deadbeat,
New Age Steppers,
Sam Rivers,
David McCallum,
Slave,
Dual Sessions,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Stereo Dub,
Soulsonic Force,
Inner City,
The Mojo Men,
Underground Resistance,
F. McDonald,
Roxy Music,
DJ Style,
The Move,
Franke,
Newcleus,
Camberwell Now,
The Motions,
Traffic Nightmare,
Altered Images,
Magma,
Yazoo,
Sixth Finger,
Warren Ellis,
Dorothy Ashby,
Prince Buster,
Lou Christie,
The Litter,
The Blues Magoos,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
Barry Ungar,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
The Zeros,
Scientists,
Rekid,
Infiniti,
Saccharine Trust,
Fatback Band,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Alphaville,
Lee Hazlewood,
The Dead C,
Johnny Osbourne,
Gil Scott Heron,
The Trojans,
the Swans,
Harry Pussy,
The Smoke, The Smoke, The Smoke, The Smoke.
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.