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 Israel and from Stockholm.
But I was there.
I was there in 1970.
I was there at the first Onyeabor show in Enugu.
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 1960 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in New York and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow 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 Wire practice in a loft in Watford.
I was working on the chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Soft Cell 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 Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark. All the underground hits.
All Eric Copeland tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Desert Stars 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The United States of America record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Red Krayola,
The Fortunes,
Outsiders,
The Associates,
The Trojans,
Ossler,
Scrapy,
Desert Stars,
Susan Cadogan,
Sam Rivers,
Suburban Knight,
Wolf Eyes,
Robert Wyatt,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Michelle Simonal,
Goldenarms,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Urselle,
Quantec,
Ultra Naté,
Flamin' Groovies,
The Techniques,
Adolescents,
Dawn Penn,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Roxette,
The Neon Judgement,
Crispy Ambulance,
The Blues Magoos,
Cameo,
Radiopuhelimet,
The Last Poets,
Chris Corsano,
The Invisible,
Wire,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Barbara Tucker,
Drive Like Jehu,
The Moody Blues,
Kerri Chandler,
Sugar Minott,
Sun City Girls,
Hasil Adkins,
Girls At Our Best!,
Delta 5,
Smog,
Thompson Twins,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
the Slits,
Jerry's Kids,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Ornette Coleman,
Shuggie Otis,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Bluetip,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Swans,
Angry Samoans,
Main Source,
China Crisis,
Mark Hollis,
Harmonia,
Television Personalities,
Aural Exciters, Aural Exciters, Aural Exciters, Aural Exciters.
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.