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 Malta and from Taipei.
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 1964 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Glasgow.
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 1983 at the first Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
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 Sexual Harrassment 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 Scrapy. All the underground hits.
All Radio Birdman tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Terrestrial Tones record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Second Layer,
James White and The Blacks,
Leonard Cohen,
Moebius,
The Trojans,
These Immortal Souls,
Erasure,
Radio Birdman,
Gerry Rafferty,
Dawn Penn,
Interpol,
Quantec,
Neil Young,
Index,
Can,
the Human League,
Arthur Verocai,
Model 500,
Ice-T,
Visage,
Steve Hackett,
Donny Hathaway,
Crispian St. Peters,
The Slackers,
Yaz,
Dark Day,
Ohio Players,
DJ Sneak,
Roxy Music,
ABC,
Das Ding,
Gang of Four,
The Monks,
Robert Hood,
Black Flag,
Derrick May,
Glenn Branca,
Inner City,
The Flesh Eaters,
Maurizio,
Mars,
London Community Gospel Choir,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Byron Stingily,
Susan Cadogan,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Nick Fraelich,
Pagans,
The Five Americans,
Essential Logic,
X-102,
Rites of Spring,
Gabor Szabo,
Surgeon,
Thee Headcoats,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Albert Ayler,
Brass Construction,
Main Source,
June of 44,
Fat Boys,
Gang Gang Dance,
Throbbing Gristle, Throbbing Gristle, Throbbing Gristle, Throbbing Gristle.
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.