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 Jordan and from Philadelphia.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Soft Boys show in Cambridge.
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 1963 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 1983 at the first Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the güiro sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Robert Wyatt 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 A Flock of Seagulls. All the underground hits.
All Angry Samoans tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Men They Couldn't Hang record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge 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 marimba and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Blues Magoos record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Wire,
Glambeats Corp.,
Pharoah Sanders,
Icehouse,
Fugazi,
Prince Buster,
Kerrie Biddell,
Marvin Gaye,
Nas,
Amazonics,
Panda Bear,
Pussy Galore,
Heaven 17,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Nick Fraelich,
B.T. Express,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Chris Corsano,
Essential Logic,
Black Sheep,
Quadrant,
8 Eyed Spy,
Visage,
Buzzcocks,
Beasts of Bourbon,
The Birthday Party,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Bluetip,
Soul II Soul,
Niagra,
Gerry Rafferty,
Erykah Badu,
Marine Girls,
The Blackbyrds,
John Coltrane,
Leonard Cohen,
Cecil Taylor,
Parry Music,
The Monks,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
The Cramps,
The Remains,
Malaria!,
Hasil Adkins,
Wally Richardson,
John Cale,
Delon & Dalcan,
Alton Ellis,
The Offenders,
Agent Orange,
Neil Young,
Rhythm & Sound,
Sonny Sharrock,
The Mojo Men,
Flipper,
The Busters,
The Happenings,
Dorothy Ashby,
Toni Rubio,
The Vogues,
Nirvana,
JFA,
Patti Smith,
Intrusion, Intrusion, Intrusion, Intrusion.
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.