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 Ukraine and from Calgary.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mumbai 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 marimba 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 The Birthday Party to the funk kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Major Organ And The Adding Machine. All the underground hits.
All Sun City Girls tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Five Americans 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a DNA record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Barry Ungar,
Sixth Finger,
Matthew Halsall,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Iggy Pop,
R.M.O.,
Eddi Front,
Hot Snakes,
Bronski Beat,
John Cale,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Joyce Sims,
Marcia Griffiths,
Darondo,
Lucky Dragons,
The Durutti Column,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
The Dave Clark Five,
June Days,
Brass Construction,
David Axelrod,
Donald Byrd,
Isaac Hayes,
John Foxx,
Don Cherry,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Minor Threat,
Qualms,
The Fuzztones,
Ultravox,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Radiopuhelimet,
The Modern Lovers,
The Cramps,
Tim Buckley,
Country Joe & The Fish,
The Techniques,
Yellowson,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Pylon,
Camron Feat. Jay Z And Juelz,
Faraquet,
Livin' Joy,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Black Moon,
The Raincoats,
the Fania All-Stars,
Main Source,
The Human League,
Gang of Four,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Crispy Ambulance,
Eric B and Rakim,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Leonard Cohen,
Second Layer,
The Victims,
Monks,
AZ,
the Normal,
Silicon Teens,
Mad Mike,
John Coltrane, John Coltrane, John Coltrane, John Coltrane.
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.