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 New Zealand and from Tokyo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Wire show in Watford.
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 1964 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Warren Ellis to the grime 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 The Electric Prunes. All the underground hits.
All The Stooges tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Harry Pussy record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Walker Brothers record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Walker Brothers,
Jeff Lynne,
K-Klass,
The Residents,
Underground Resistance,
Lou Christie,
Bob Dylan,
Althea and Donna,
Crash Course in Science,
Alton Ellis,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Black Pus,
The Remains,
Y Pants,
David Axelrod,
Danielle Patucci,
Arab on Radar,
the Bar-Kays,
Nation of Ulysses,
Lalann,
Jeff Mills,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Eric B and Rakim,
Amazonics,
Skarface,
Franke,
H. Thieme,
Soft Cell,
Scion,
The Electric Prunes,
Ultra Naté,
Can,
Eli Mardock,
Soft Machine,
Ultimate Spinach,
Yusef Lateef,
Nico,
Chris & Cosey,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Mr. Review,
Davy DMX,
Q65,
Johnny Clarke,
F. McDonald,
B.T. Express,
10cc,
Altered Images,
Moebius,
Marcia Griffiths,
Carl Craig,
Piero Umiliani,
Monolake,
The Beau Brummels,
JFA,
Alison Limerick,
Gastr Del Sol,
Inner City,
the Germs,
Deepchord,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Buzzcocks,
Slave, Slave, Slave, Slave.
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.