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 Algeria and from Mumbai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle show in 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 1960 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Portland.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Hong Kong 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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Brand Nubian to the grunge kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Howard Jones. All the underground hits.
All The Five Americans tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Robert Görl 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Fela Kuti record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
AZ,
Dave Gahan,
The Gun Club,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
The New Christs,
Jimmy McGriff,
Eli Mardock,
EPMD,
Unwound,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
DNA,
Cybotron,
The Searchers,
Monks,
Barrington Levy,
Sister Nancy,
Bush Tetras,
Andrew Hill,
The Divine Comedy,
OOIOO,
U.S. Maple,
Duran Duran,
John Holt,
The Dirtbombs,
Cymande,
The Cure,
Matthew Halsall,
The Toasters,
Drexciya,
Mark Hollis,
The Remains,
Agent Orange,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Shoche,
Wings,
Animal Collective,
The Mojo Men,
Mantronix,
The Fall,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Colin Newman,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Black Flag,
Maurizio,
The Blues Magoos,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Graham Central Station,
Livin' Joy,
John Cale,
Aswad,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Grandmaster Flash,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Saccharine Trust,
Deakin,
Los Fastidios,
Kerri Chandler,
Bob Dylan,
Electric Light Orchestra,
The Fortunes, The Fortunes, The Fortunes, The Fortunes.
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.