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 Tonga and from Bremen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television 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 1969 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Halifax and Toronto.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bremen 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 Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Peanut Butter Conspiracy to the dance kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Camouflage. All the underground hits.
All Red Lorry Yellow Lorry tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Hoover 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gang of Four record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Wire,
John Foxx,
Pagans,
R.M.O.,
Suburban Knight,
Mo-Dettes,
The Smoke,
Donald Byrd,
Throbbing Gristle,
Yaz,
Boogie Down Productions,
Tommy Roe,
Dorothy Ashby,
Von Mondo,
Angry Samoans,
Warsaw,
Sly & The Family Stone,
The Slits,
Ken Boothe,
Public Enemy,
Albert Ayler,
Babytalk,
The Dirtbombs,
Bill Wells,
The Saints,
Camouflage,
Joe Smooth,
Con Funk Shun,
Sandy B,
Kool Moe Dee,
The Vogues,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Nation of Ulysses,
Masters at Work,
Lalann,
Matthew Halsall,
The Durutti Column,
The Barracudas,
The Smiths,
Rites of Spring,
X-102,
Second Layer,
Hashim,
Y Pants,
Soft Cell,
Shoche,
Arcadia,
Gil Scott Heron,
Silicon Teens,
Sonny Sharrock,
Stetsasonic,
The Divine Comedy,
The Detroit Cobras,
The Toasters,
Magma,
Youth Brigade,
Tres Demented,
Fatback Band,
Make Up,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Jimmy McGriff,
Lindisfarne, Lindisfarne, Lindisfarne, Lindisfarne.
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.