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 Afghanistan and from Accra.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Salvador 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 snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Severed Heads to the rock 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 The Pretty Things. All the underground hits.
All Justin Hinds & The Dominoes tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bobbi Humphrey 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Marc Almond record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bob Dylan,
Slick Rick,
The Dirtbombs,
Anthony Braxton,
Spandau Ballet,
Barclay James Harvest,
David McCallum,
Throbbing Gristle,
Erykah Badu,
The Gladiators,
The Vogues,
Camouflage,
E-Dancer,
Popol Vuh,
The Red Krayola,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Nation of Ulysses,
Bronski Beat,
Massinfluence,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Scion,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Easy Going,
The Motions,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
UT,
Con Funk Shun,
kango's stein massive,
Terry Callier,
Moby Grape,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Whodini,
Mark Hollis,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Los Fastidios,
Joy Division,
X-102,
Amon Düül,
The Fuzztones,
New Age Steppers,
H. Thieme,
Soulsonic Force,
The Cure,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Suicide,
Isaac Hayes,
The Tremeloes,
Mad Mike,
Lightning Bolt,
Harry Pussy,
Curtis Mayfield,
Eurythmics,
Motorama,
Stockholm Monsters,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Junior Murvin,
Blake Baxter,
Althea and Donna,
Unrelated Segments, Unrelated Segments, Unrelated Segments, Unrelated Segments.
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.