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 Kenya and from Mexico City.
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 1968 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lille and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Jimmy McGriff to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Crispian St. Peters. All the underground hits.
All Young Marble Giants tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Rufus Thomas 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gerry Rafferty record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Litter,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Peter and Kerry,
Lyres,
Oneida,
Tim Buckley,
Trumans Water,
The Martian,
Rufus Thomas,
Boz Scaggs,
The Victims,
The Moody Blues,
Malaria!,
Crispy Ambulance,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Suburban Knight,
Jimmy McGriff,
The Remains,
Second Layer,
Sexual Harrassment,
Japan,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Pere Ubu,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Crash Course in Science,
Groovy Waters,
Mad Mike,
Janne Schatter,
Public Image Ltd.,
Animal Collective,
The Buckinghams,
Make Up,
Underground Resistance,
Jeru the Damaja,
Pierre Henry,
Visage,
a-ha,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Stetsasonic,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Nik Kershaw,
Lalann,
Metal Thangz,
Spoonie Gee,
The Beau Brummels,
Essential Logic,
Tom Boy,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Section 25,
Slick Rick,
Youth Brigade,
Sparks,
Quadrant,
U.S. Maple,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
The Birthday Party,
Henry Cow,
X-101,
Deakin,
The Gories,
Bauhaus,
The Trojans, The Trojans, The Trojans, The Trojans.
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.