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 Gambia and from Manila.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1969 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lille and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lagos 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 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the spring reverb 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 Boogie Down Productions to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Wings. All the underground hits.
All A Certain Ratio tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Arab on Radar record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 spring reverb and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Saints record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Dirtbombs,
Amon Düül,
Black Sheep,
Infiniti,
Ossler,
Aural Exciters,
The Busters,
The Golliwogs,
The Electric Prunes,
Man Parrish,
Mars,
Fatback Band,
The Sound,
Girls At Our Best!,
The Skatalites,
Maleditus Sound,
The Associates,
The Pop Group,
Q and Not U,
Dead Boys,
Skarface,
Japan,
Janne Schatter,
Procol Harum,
Half Japanese,
Gang Gang Dance,
The United States of America,
Lee Hazlewood,
Althea and Donna,
Gong,
Isaac Hayes,
The Music Machine,
The Velvet Underground,
Gastr Del Sol,
Joey Negro,
Electric Light Orchestra,
The Dead C,
R.M.O.,
Reuben Wilson,
The Flesh Eaters,
Kurtis Blow,
Cybotron,
Simply Red,
Scientists,
Echospace,
Wire,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Stetsasonic,
The Names,
Blossom Toes,
Ken Boothe,
Camberwell Now,
Black Bananas,
Talk Talk,
Unwound,
Model 500,
Avey Tare,
The Blues Magoos,
Whodini,
Rotary Connection,
Trumans Water,
Rod Modell,
Groovy Waters,
Danielle Patucci,
Nas, Nas, Nas, Nas.
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.