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 Bulgaria and from Glasgow.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1965 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lagos 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 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 Deepchord to the funk 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 Sällskapet. All the underground hits.
All Fad Gadget tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Arcadia record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Moleskins record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Crooked Eye,
Moebius,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Faraquet,
T.S.O.L.,
Malaria!,
Wolf Eyes,
The Techniques,
The Electric Prunes,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Girls At Our Best!,
The Residents,
Basic Channel,
The Divine Comedy,
Rapeman,
Q and Not U,
Soft Cell,
Jerry's Kids,
the Germs,
Wire,
Stetsasonic,
Aswad,
Gang Gang Dance,
The Beau Brummels,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Anthony Braxton,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
The Selecter,
Jimmy McGriff,
Jacques Brel,
Ludus,
The Buckinghams,
Skriet,
Drexciya,
Angry Samoans,
Electric Light Orchestra,
New Age Steppers,
Ornette Coleman,
the Sonics,
Parry Music,
Scratch Acid,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Juan Atkins,
Pussy Galore,
Marine Girls,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Talk Talk,
Kerri Chandler,
The Evens,
Panda Bear,
The Smiths,
The Flesh Eaters,
Yusef Lateef,
The Gladiators,
Howard Jones,
Supertramp,
Smog,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Trumans Water,
June of 44,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade, Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade, Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade, Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade.
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.