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 Panama and from Lille.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Cairo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 theremin 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 The Peanut Butter Conspiracy to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Detroit Cobras. All the underground hits.
All Porter Ricks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Flesh Eaters record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Fat Boys record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Connie Case,
Qualms,
Davy DMX,
Massinfluence,
John Holt,
Radiohead,
Eurythmics,
Fat Boys,
Index,
Gong,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Eddi Front,
Royal Trux,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
DNA,
Au Pairs,
Rites of Spring,
The Birthday Party,
Funky Four + One,
D'Angelo,
the Soft Cell,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Lalo Schifrin,
The Dirtbombs,
Marvin Gaye,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
EPMD,
Cluster,
Janne Schatter,
Flipper,
Amazonics,
Sun City Girls,
Arab on Radar,
The Invisible,
Lyres,
Sonic Youth,
Dual Sessions,
The Knickerbockers,
La Düsseldorf,
Easy Going,
The Monochrome Set,
Grey Daturas,
Negative Approach,
Stockholm Monsters,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Carl Craig,
Graham Central Station,
Gang Gang Dance,
Flash Fearless,
Mad Mike,
The J.B.'s,
Curtis Mayfield,
Sight & Sound,
Lou Reed,
Magma,
UT,
Ornette Coleman,
David Bowie, David Bowie, David Bowie, David Bowie.
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.