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 Zimbabwe and from Bremen.
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 1969 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the rhodes 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 Gang of Four to the grime kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade. All the underground hits.
All Fifty Foot Hose tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Richard Hell and the Voidoids record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Jerry Gold Smith record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Index,
Hardrive,
Vainqueur,
Albert Ayler,
ABBA,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Wolf Eyes,
Man Eating Sloth,
The Detroit Cobras,
PIL,
Peter & Gordon,
The Slits,
Newcleus,
Yellowson,
Colin Newman,
Sonny Sharrock,
Eden Ahbez,
Bob Dylan,
The Pretty Things,
Silicon Teens,
Pole,
Sun City Girls,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Terrestrial Tones,
Quantec,
Young Marble Giants,
The Last Poets,
Flash Fearless,
Gichy Dan,
Kas Product,
Vladislav Delay,
Soul II Soul,
Second Layer,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Moss Icon,
The Raincoats,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Heaven 17,
Glambeats Corp.,
Y Pants,
Quando Quango,
Mars,
Steve Hackett,
Freddie Wadling,
Avey Tare,
Alice Coltrane,
48th St. Collective,
Ice-T,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Wings,
L. Decosne,
The Sonics,
Grey Daturas,
Mr. Review,
The Gap Band,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Dorothy Ashby,
Erasure,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Mandrill,
Derrick May,
Q and Not U, Q and Not U, Q and Not U, Q and Not U.
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.