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 Colombia and from Portland.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1964 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Spokane and Lagos.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 1977 at the first Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Alarm Clocks to the funk kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Cal Tjader. All the underground hits.
All David Bowie tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Avey Tare record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pussy Galore record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Barry Ungar,
Nas,
Tubeway Army,
Can,
The Black Dice,
Fear,
The Invisible,
Judy Mowatt,
Sandy B,
Brass Construction,
The Wake,
Loose Ends,
Rapeman,
Delon & Dalcan,
U.S. Maple,
Radiohead,
Boz Scaggs,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Black Pus,
The Angels of Light,
The Move,
PIL,
Don Cherry,
Matthew Halsall,
Cybotron,
Essential Logic,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Leonard Cohen,
Wally Richardson,
Sixth Finger,
Neu!,
Jesper Dahlback,
Rekid,
Mary Jane Girls,
Youth Brigade,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Moby Grape,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
The Detroit Cobras,
The Electric Prunes,
Ultravox,
The Durutti Column,
Throbbing Gristle,
Johnny Osbourne,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Terry Callier,
The Monks,
Cameo,
The Birthday Party,
Flipper,
The Selecter,
Magma,
The Divine Comedy,
Second Layer,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Television Personalities,
New Order,
Minutemen,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Soft Machine,
John Cale,
Sound Behaviour, Sound Behaviour, Sound Behaviour, Sound Behaviour.
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.