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 Ghana and from Copenhagen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Wire show in Watford.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Manila.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle 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 Ultramagnetic MC's to the electroclash kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Mark Hollis. All the underground hits.
All Jimmy McGriff tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Erasure record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 marimba and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Terror Squad Feat. Camron record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Man Eating Sloth,
Roy Ayers,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Radiohead,
Boogie Down Productions,
Black Pus,
48th St. Collective,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Traffic Nightmare,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Rapeman,
June of 44,
Scan 7,
Yusef Lateef,
Robert Hood,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Television,
Moss Icon,
John Cale,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Cymande,
Technova,
Susan Cadogan,
Pet Shop Boys,
New York Dolls,
Marshall Jefferson,
Yellowson,
Mary Jane Girls,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Morten Harket,
Glenn Branca,
Joensuu 1685,
World's Most,
Joe Smooth,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Roger Hodgson,
Deadbeat,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Agent Orange,
The Raincoats,
Sam Rivers,
Dorothy Ashby,
Idris Muhammad,
Surgeon,
Crispy Ambulance,
The Kinks,
Nico,
The Saints,
Kenny Larkin,
The Count Five,
Gerry Rafferty,
Das Ding,
Rekid,
The Fire Engines,
Crooked Eye,
Quantec,
Nick Fraelich,
Moby Grape,
Todd Rundgren, Todd Rundgren, Todd Rundgren, Todd Rundgren.
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.