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 Switzerland and from Mexico City.
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 1968 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 1976 at the first Soft Boys practice in a loft in Cambridge.
I was working on the linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Art Ensemble Of Chicago to the jazz 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 Ultra Naté. All the underground hits.
All Steve Hackett tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Crash Course in Science 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a OOIOO record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Rakim,
Model 500,
Man Eating Sloth,
Darondo,
Angry Samoans,
Underground Resistance,
Roxy Music,
Marcia Griffiths,
Barbara Tucker,
Mo-Dettes,
The Sonics,
D'Angelo,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Harpers Bizarre,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Q65,
Terrestrial Tones,
Gichy Dan,
Susan Cadogan,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Sun Ra,
The Fortunes,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Cameo,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Minnie Riperton,
Niagra,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
The Skatalites,
Nik Kershaw,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Echospace,
Guru Guru,
Con Funk Shun,
Make Up,
Nation of Ulysses,
Yazoo,
Deakin,
Organ,
Deepchord,
Don Cherry,
Jeru the Damaja,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Erasure,
Letta Mbulu,
Tears for Fears,
Harmonia,
Sexual Harrassment,
Parry Music,
Sly & The Family Stone,
The Martian,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Soul II Soul,
Slave,
Isaac Hayes,
Lee Hazlewood,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Blancmange,
Scott Walker,
Sonny Sharrock,
Oneida,
Dead Boys, Dead Boys, Dead Boys, Dead Boys.
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.