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 China and from Manila.
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 1961 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Cairo 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 Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the organ 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 Blancmange to the electroclash kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Blake Baxter. All the underground hits.
All Zero Boys tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Arthur Verocai record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Wolf Eyes record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Deadbeat,
Procol Harum,
Black Pus,
The Detroit Cobras,
Infiniti,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Electric Prunes,
Stereo Dub,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Sister Nancy,
The Young Rascals,
Ludus,
Qualms,
Bauhaus,
Mary Jane Girls,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
The Toasters,
Quantec,
Scrapy,
The Real Kids,
A Flock of Seagulls,
X-Ray Spex,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Bobby Byrd,
Marc Almond,
The Names,
The Slackers,
Neil Young,
The Fugs,
Scion,
Scratch Acid,
The Sound,
The Trojans,
The Dirtbombs,
Aswad,
Curtis Mayfield,
the Swans,
David McCallum,
Hashim,
Tears for Fears,
The United States of America,
the Fania All-Stars,
Buzzcocks,
Motorama,
Alice Coltrane,
The Doors,
Josef K,
Camberwell Now,
Lee Hazlewood,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Urselle,
The Shadows of Knight,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Nation of Ulysses,
Massinfluence,
Gang of Four,
Marine Girls,
Accadde A,
Tom Boy,
Wally Richardson,
Amazonics, Amazonics, Amazonics, Amazonics.
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.