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 Guinea-Bissau and from Lille.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Wire show in Watford.
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 1966 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Philadelphia.
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 1977 at the first Zapp practice in a loft in Hamilton.
I was working on the chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Outsiders to the electroclash kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Scott Walker. All the underground hits.
All The Sonics tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sticky Fingaz feat. Raekwon 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Doobie Brothers record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Alphaville,
Eric Dolphy,
The Doors,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Pussy Galore,
Tropical Tobacco,
Bill Wells,
Stetsasonic,
Sonny Sharrock,
Marmalade,
Index,
Depeche Mode,
Little Man,
Bizarre Inc.,
Traffic Nightmare,
The Index,
The Beau Brummels,
Brand Nubian,
Ralphi Rosario,
Rod Modell,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Bauhaus,
Sister Nancy,
Todd Terry,
Con Funk Shun,
Joy Division,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Procol Harum,
Porter Ricks,
DJ Sneak,
Drive Like Jehu,
The Gun Club,
Crooked Eye,
Sun City Girls,
Amazonics,
June of 44,
The Trojans,
Leonard Cohen,
Ultravox,
Rosa Yemen,
Andrew Hill,
Joe Finger,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Toni Rubio,
L. Decosne,
Oblivians,
Big Daddy Kane,
Josef K,
DNA,
Tres Demented,
Tears for Fears,
Don Cherry,
Alice Coltrane,
Henry Cow,
Pantytec,
Yusef Lateef,
Smog,
Pulsallama,
The Flesh Eaters,
Terrestrial Tones,
Ludus, Ludus, Ludus, Ludus.
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.