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 Venezuela and from Jakarta.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bremen and Cairo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the arpeggiator 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 James Chance & The Contortions to the electroclash 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 The Martian. All the underground hits.
All Quantec tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Glenn Branca record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Moody Blues,
Metal Thangz,
Dawn Penn,
Tres Demented,
New York Dolls,
Eyeless In Gaza,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Bobby Womack,
Mary Jane Girls,
Chris Corsano,
Scion,
Arab on Radar,
Reuben Wilson,
Gang Green,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Quadrant,
Mr. Review,
Derrick May,
The Five Americans,
Robert Wyatt,
Eli Mardock,
Fad Gadget,
The Tremeloes,
Judy Mowatt,
Bobby Sherman,
D'Angelo,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Cheater Slicks,
Wings,
Eric Copeland,
DJ Style,
The Gladiators,
Faust,
Agent Orange,
Unrelated Segments,
Nico,
Radiopuhelimet,
Wolf Eyes,
Circle Jerks,
Interpol,
Infiniti,
8 Eyed Spy,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Smog,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Leonard Cohen,
In Retrospect,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Big Daddy Kane,
Yellowson,
The Dead C,
Marmalade,
Glambeats Corp.,
Cal Tjader,
Laurel Aitken,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Lower 48,
The Residents,
Ludus,
The Cure, The Cure, The Cure, The Cure.
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.