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 Guinea-Bissau and from Woodstock.
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 1961 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Seoul.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Masters at Work to the techno kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Pole. All the underground hits.
All The Wake tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Notorious Big And Bone Thugs 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a B.T. Express record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Grey Daturas,
The Young Rascals,
Monolake,
Pantytec,
Howard Jones,
Suicide,
LL Cool J,
Franke,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Skaos,
L. Decosne,
Cymande,
Bang On A Can,
Lyres,
Nas,
Sex Pistols,
Stereo Dub,
Procol Harum,
Absolute Body Control,
Quadrant,
Terry Callier,
ABBA,
Moss Icon,
Sonic Youth,
The Residents,
Joe Finger,
The United States of America,
The Pretty Things,
Cal Tjader,
The Divine Comedy,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Boogie Down Productions,
Easy Going,
Yaz,
Jandek,
John Lydon,
Little Man,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Reagan Youth,
Kerri Chandler,
Juan Atkins,
The Sound,
Amon Düül II,
Drexciya,
Index,
Andrew Hill,
Bush Tetras,
Shuggie Otis,
the Germs,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Kurtis Blow,
48th St. Collective,
Country Teasers,
Magma,
The Golliwogs,
The Cure,
The Smiths,
The Victims,
Urselle,
Mo-Dettes,
Rakim, Rakim, Rakim, Rakim.
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.