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 Belgium and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1984.
I was there at the first Arcadia 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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Houston and Jakarta.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Winnipeg 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the sitar 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 Cure to the dance 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 Gregory Isaacs. All the underground hits.
All Lyres tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sexual Harrassment record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz 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 harpsichord 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 chamberlin and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Graham Central Station,
The Tremeloes,
The Alarm Clocks,
Heaven 17,
Howard Jones,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Guru Guru,
Jeru the Damaja,
Suicide,
Intrusion,
Crooked Eye,
Yellowson,
Silicon Teens,
Derrick Morgan,
Rekid,
These Immortal Souls,
Moebius,
Porter Ricks,
Harry Pussy,
Pantytec,
Motorama,
Andrew Hill,
Magma,
ABBA,
Shoche,
Anthony Braxton,
Sight & Sound,
Amon Düül,
Gastr Del Sol,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Stereo Dub,
DNA,
Trumans Water,
The Selecter,
The Trojans,
Accadde A,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
The Sonics,
Roy Ayers,
The Searchers,
David Bowie,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
The Divine Comedy,
Hoover,
The Vogues,
David Axelrod,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Marvin Gaye,
Faust,
48th St. Collective,
Soulsonic Force,
Joyce Sims,
Lou Christie,
F. McDonald,
Kool Moe Dee,
Mark Hollis,
Monks,
The Misunderstood,
Bauhaus,
The Skatalites,
Camouflage,
John Cale,
Altered Images, Altered Images, Altered Images, Altered Images.
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.