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 Kiribati and from Toronto.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television show in New York.
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 Philadelphia and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school London 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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the sitar 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 Robert Görl to the electroclash 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 Japan. All the underground hits.
All Skriet tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Echo & the Bunnymen 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Busters record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Susan Cadogan,
The Detroit Cobras,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
The Gun Club,
Ken Boothe,
Stiv Bators,
Dual Sessions,
Rosa Yemen,
Curtis Mayfield,
The Real Kids,
Bill Near,
Sandy B,
Magma,
Marvin Gaye,
Spandau Ballet,
Tomorrow,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Camouflage,
Johnny Clarke,
Lyres,
Jesper Dahlback,
Soft Cell,
Throbbing Gristle,
The Selecter,
Anthony Braxton,
The Residents,
Dennis Brown,
The Sonics,
Vladislav Delay,
The Saints,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Livin' Joy,
Sonny Sharrock,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Reuben Wilson,
Hardrive,
Sun City Girls,
The Mummies,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Aswad,
Colin Newman,
The Blues Magoos,
Barrington Levy,
The Kinks,
Echospace,
Avey Tare,
Black Flag,
Bluetip,
Pet Shop Boys,
The Divine Comedy,
H. Thieme,
Yusef Lateef,
The Wake,
Jimmy McGriff,
Fluxion,
Symarip,
The Remains,
Godley & Creme,
Arthur Verocai,
The Golliwogs,
Crispy Ambulance, Crispy Ambulance, Crispy Ambulance, Crispy Ambulance.
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.