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 Cuba and from Manchester.
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 1960 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Houston and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 guitar 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 Lightning Bolt to the rap kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Dirtbombs. All the underground hits.
All The Kinks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Scrapy 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Fall record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
DJ Style,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
The Slackers,
Jawbox,
Morten Harket,
Black Sheep,
Derrick May,
OOIOO,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Gang Green,
Intrusion,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Danielle Patucci,
Visage,
Joyce Sims,
Freddie Wadling,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Qualms,
Gil Scott Heron,
Eve St. Jones,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
The Music Machine,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Dorothy Ashby,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
the Bar-Kays,
Mandrill,
Masters at Work,
Sex Pistols,
The Mojo Men,
The Star Department,
Charles Mingus,
Saccharine Trust,
The Neon Judgement,
The Wake,
Bang On A Can,
The Moody Blues,
Half Japanese,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Kurtis Blow,
Tomorrow,
Jeff Mills,
The Electric Prunes,
Minor Threat,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Josef K,
The Motions,
Lindisfarne,
Fifty Foot Hose,
The United States of America,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Mad Mike,
Marcia Griffiths,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Liliput,
The Dead C,
The Buckinghams,
The Index,
These Immortal Souls,
Organ,
Kayak, Kayak, Kayak, Kayak.
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.