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 Brazil and from Mumbai.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide show in New York.
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 1968 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Calgary 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 organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Buckinghams to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Monks. All the underground hits.
All Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Silicon Teens record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime 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 theremin and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Suicide record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Livin' Joy,
Sugar Minott,
ABC,
Camberwell Now,
Nirvana,
Throbbing Gristle,
Mary Jane Girls,
The Slits,
8 Eyed Spy,
Gil Scott Heron,
Hoover,
Pantaleimon,
The Busters,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Aloha Tigers,
Mr. Review,
The Martian,
Bad Manners,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Royal Trux,
The Smiths,
The Sound,
H. Thieme,
Tim Buckley,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Gregory Isaacs,
The J.B.'s,
Magma,
The Misunderstood,
48th St. Collective,
Delta 5,
Bauhaus,
John Cale,
the Swans,
Gichy Dan,
U.S. Maple,
The Mummies,
Curtis Mayfield,
Quando Quango,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Iggy Pop,
Hashim,
Make Up,
DJ Style,
Carl Craig,
Icehouse,
Popol Vuh,
The Star Department,
The American Breed,
Von Mondo,
La Düsseldorf,
Darondo,
Yusef Lateef,
Anakelly,
Henry Cow,
The Cure,
The Saints,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
June Days,
Public Enemy,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Zapp,
Aural Exciters,
Depeche Mode, Depeche Mode, Depeche Mode, Depeche Mode.
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.