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 El Salvador and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Art of Noise 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 1961 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school London 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 Buzzcocks practice in a loft in Bolton.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 The New Christs 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 Nils Olav. All the underground hits.
All Big Daddy Kane tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Patti Smith record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a 48th St. Collective record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Suicide,
Das Ding,
Aural Exciters,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
The Searchers,
The Grass Roots,
The Pop Group,
Erasure,
Simply Red,
Trumans Water,
Crime,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Surgeon,
10cc,
Curtis Mayfield,
Josef K,
Joyce Sims,
Mission of Burma,
Minutemen,
Crooked Eye,
Eric Dolphy,
Sparks,
Gang Green,
Pet Shop Boys,
Kurtis Blow,
Jacob Miller,
Tears for Fears,
Rotary Connection,
F. McDonald,
The New Christs,
The Flesh Eaters,
The Litter,
Gil Scott Heron,
The Fire Engines,
John Foxx,
Barry Ungar,
Drexciya,
Index,
Sarah Menescal,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Lightning Bolt,
Michelle Simonal,
FM Einheit,
Magma,
Lucky Dragons,
8 Eyed Spy,
Easy Going,
Robert Wyatt,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Joe Finger,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Derrick May,
Y Pants,
Joensuu 1685,
Pussy Galore,
Soulsonic Force,
Traffic Nightmare,
Glenn Branca,
Marc Almond,
The Alarm Clocks,
Delta 5, Delta 5, Delta 5, Delta 5.
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.