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 Lithuania and from Halifax.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle show in London.
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 1963 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bremen and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 1971 at the first Big Star practice in a loft in Memphis.
I was working on the sitar 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 B.T. Express to the dance 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 Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade. All the underground hits.
All David McCallum tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Wake 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Selecter record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Young Marble Giants,
The Moleskins,
the Normal,
Nation of Ulysses,
a-ha,
Faraquet,
June Days,
Leonard Cohen,
Minnie Riperton,
Pole,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Robert Wyatt,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Moby Grape,
L. Decosne,
Roger Hodgson,
John Cale,
The Mojo Men,
Lyres,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
8 Eyed Spy,
Unrelated Segments,
Smog,
Bush Tetras,
Shuggie Otis,
The Human League,
Harpers Bizarre,
Jacques Brel,
Ken Boothe,
Stetsasonic,
Main Source,
Simply Red,
Quantec,
Stockholm Monsters,
London Community Gospel Choir,
The Cosmic Jokers,
The Slackers,
Traffic Nightmare,
Darondo,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Fad Gadget,
Japan,
New Age Steppers,
JFA,
Funkadelic,
Harry Pussy,
Nils Olav,
Cybotron,
Aloha Tigers,
Mission of Burma,
Jeru the Damaja,
Franke,
Kayak,
Funky Four + One,
In Retrospect,
Dead Boys,
Malaria!,
Babytalk,
World's Most,
The Gun Club, The Gun Club, The Gun Club, The Gun Club.
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.