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 Equatorial Guinea and from Manchester.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1968 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 1978 at the first Visage practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the marimba 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 David Bowie to the rap 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 Robert Hood. All the underground hits.
All Barbara Tucker tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Ultravox record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Stiv Bators,
Fluxion,
Morten Harket,
The Beau Brummels,
John Holt,
Nils Olav,
The Mojo Men,
10cc,
Fatback Band,
The Martian,
The Fall,
Main Source,
Ituana,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Agent Orange,
Niagra,
Tres Demented,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Ice-T,
Throbbing Gristle,
Graham Central Station,
Basic Channel,
Q65,
Black Bananas,
Mr. Review,
Barry Ungar,
The Neon Judgement,
Fad Gadget,
Pussy Galore,
Sex Pistols,
Con Funk Shun,
Aswad,
Dennis Brown,
Qualms,
Joy Division,
Spoonie Gee,
U.S. Maple,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
X-101,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Symarip,
Aaron Thompson,
Sugar Minott,
ABBA,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Sällskapet,
Hoover,
Swans,
Flipper,
Nico,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Mission of Burma,
Funkadelic,
Faraquet,
Pet Shop Boys,
Joe Finger,
Suicide,
Kerrie Biddell,
Minnie Riperton,
The Slackers,
The Young Rascals,
Eddi Front,
MC5,
Sparks, Sparks, Sparks, Sparks.
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.