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 Papua New Guinea and from Spokane.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Josef K show in Edinburgh.
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 1967 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 spring reverb 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 Pharoah Sanders to the rock kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 The Velvet Underground. All the underground hits.
All DJ Style tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Pop Group record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Moody Blues record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Robert Hood,
The Smiths,
Rosa Yemen,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Visage,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Fugazi,
Minny Pops,
The Durutti Column,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Inner City,
Yusef Lateef,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Icehouse,
Au Pairs,
Interpol,
Dawn Penn,
Jeff Lynne,
Ice-T,
Radio Birdman,
The Monks,
Tres Demented,
Erykah Badu,
Quando Quango,
The Gladiators,
Saccharine Trust,
Swell Maps,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Bauhaus,
Sällskapet,
Fad Gadget,
Ronan,
The Mojo Men,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Stetsasonic,
Monolake,
Barry Ungar,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Half Japanese,
UT,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Chris Corsano,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Scrapy,
Tears for Fears,
Country Teasers,
Buzzcocks,
New York Dolls,
John Foxx,
Niagra,
Nils Olav,
Lakeside,
Junior Murvin,
The Names,
Joe Finger,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Drexciya,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Sonny Sharrock, Sonny Sharrock, Sonny Sharrock, Sonny Sharrock.
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.