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 Botswana and from Houston.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Jakarta 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 1978 at the first Visage practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the güiro 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 Newcleus to the dance kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Camberwell Now. All the underground hits.
All Kaleidoscope tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sarah Menescal record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Wasted Youth,
The Index,
Camouflage,
Arcadia,
Jerry Gold Smith,
The Neon Judgement,
Smog,
Symarip,
Maurizio,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Sandy B,
Sam Rivers,
Wally Richardson,
The Busters,
Circle Jerks,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Arab on Radar,
Eric B and Rakim,
Michelle Simonal,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Freddie Wadling,
Bad Manners,
Bill Wells,
Lakeside,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Tears for Fears,
Mantronix,
Eli Mardock,
Josef K,
Black Sheep,
These Immortal Souls,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Archie Shepp,
Second Layer,
the Soft Cell,
Eddi Front,
The Cramps,
Marc Almond,
Pierre Henry,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
The Evens,
Scratch Acid,
Erasure,
Pulsallama,
David McCallum,
Subhumans,
Von Mondo,
Underground Resistance,
Chris & Cosey,
Adolescents,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Jawbox,
Black Bananas,
Lee Hazlewood,
Kaleidoscope,
The Divine Comedy,
The Invisible,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Glenn Branca,
Erykah Badu,
Bronski Beat, Bronski Beat, Bronski Beat, Bronski Beat.
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.