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 Comoros and from Accra.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 synthesizer 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 Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Sonic Youth. All the underground hits.
All Ultravox tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Grandmaster Flash record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Men They Couldn't Hang record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Gastr Del Sol,
Joy Division,
Alton Ellis,
Funky Four + One,
Sugar Minott,
Gang Starr,
Mo-Dettes,
Flamin' Groovies,
Bang On A Can,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
The Blues Magoos,
Guru Guru,
Ultimate Spinach,
Shoche,
Soft Cell,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Radiopuhelimet,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Johnny Osbourne,
Minnie Riperton,
EPMD,
Godley & Creme,
Livin' Joy,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Quando Quango,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Masters at Work,
Groovy Waters,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
The Tremeloes,
D'Angelo,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Oneida,
John Holt,
Jerry's Kids,
Eric Dolphy,
Eve St. Jones,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Neil Young,
June of 44,
The Busters,
Dark Day,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Cluster,
The Doobie Brothers,
H. Thieme,
Anakelly,
Boredoms,
Piero Umiliani,
Marine Girls,
Bill Wells,
The Toasters,
Sonny Sharrock,
Gichy Dan,
Bizarre Inc.,
The Red Krayola,
Monolake,
MC5,
The Searchers,
Quantec,
Duran Duran,
Roger Hodgson,
Gang Green,
Faust, Faust, Faust, Faust.
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.