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 Korea North and from Beijing.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Big Star show in Memphis.
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 Accra and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Joy Division to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Index. All the underground hits.
All Lightning Bolt tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Peanut Butter Conspiracy record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 synthesizer and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Blancmange record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Deadbeat,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Surgeon,
ABC,
The Last Poets,
Sound Behaviour,
Gang Green,
Quando Quango,
Jesper Dahlback,
Kurtis Blow,
Gang Starr,
Max Romeo,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Wasted Youth,
Agent Orange,
Young Marble Giants,
Oblivians,
Terry Callier,
The Litter,
Arthur Verocai,
Reagan Youth,
Throbbing Gristle,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
The Searchers,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
KRS-One,
Monks,
Porter Ricks,
Marcia Griffiths,
Severed Heads,
Silicon Teens,
Symarip,
Godley & Creme,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
The Fuzztones,
Tropical Tobacco,
Brand Nubian,
Fluxion,
The Mummies,
June Days,
Marc Almond,
These Immortal Souls,
Stetsasonic,
Laurel Aitken,
Slick Rick,
Interpol,
The Music Machine,
Organ,
Steve Hackett,
Crispian St. Peters,
Pharoah Sanders,
The Doobie Brothers,
The New Christs,
H. Thieme,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Junior Murvin,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
The Fire Engines, The Fire Engines, The Fire Engines, The Fire Engines.
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.