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 Switzerland and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South 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 1969 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 1983 at the first Lewis practice in a loft in Vancouver.
I was working on the theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Rufus Thomas to the funk 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 Metal Thangz. All the underground hits.
All Agent Orange tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Kerrie Biddell record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock 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 a spring reverb and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Index record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Peter & Gordon,
Mandrill,
The Detroit Cobras,
Underground Resistance,
The Smoke,
Marc Almond,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
The Standells,
Pussy Galore,
Bill Wells,
Sex Pistols,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Make Up,
Malaria!,
Johnny Clarke,
R.M.O.,
Ronnie Foster,
Average White Band,
Nas,
Theoretical Girls,
Visage,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Cal Tjader,
Skriet,
Hashim,
Mr. Review,
The Slackers,
Slick Rick,
Funkadelic,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
The Five Americans,
Lucky Dragons,
The Smiths,
Television,
Tom Boy,
The Blackbyrds,
Black Moon,
Idris Muhammad,
Pierre Henry,
Gang Green,
Glambeats Corp.,
Royal Trux,
Mission of Burma,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Roger Hodgson,
Fad Gadget,
The Associates,
Althea and Donna,
Johnny Osbourne,
Altered Images,
T. Rex,
Procol Harum,
The Beau Brummels,
Marvin Gaye,
Sound Behaviour,
Masters at Work,
The Dead C,
Tears for Fears,
Faust,
Jacob Miller,
Todd Terry,
The Slits,
Crime,
Angry Samoans,
Thee Headcoats, Thee Headcoats, Thee Headcoats, Thee Headcoats.
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.