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 Djibouti and from Stockholm.
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 1963 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Hong Kong.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 Wire practice in a loft in Watford.
I was working on the rhodes 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 Marshall Jefferson to the techno kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 United States of America. All the underground hits.
All R.M.O. tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Shadows of Knight 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Cybotron record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Circle Jerks,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Public Enemy,
Porter Ricks,
John Coltrane,
Jawbox,
Ultra Naté,
D'Angelo,
Soulsonic Force,
Subhumans,
Nick Fraelich,
Joyce Sims,
The Busters,
The Knickerbockers,
Country Teasers,
PIL,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Sixth Finger,
Archie Shepp,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Anthony Braxton,
Gichy Dan,
John Holt,
The Red Krayola,
Amazonics,
Radio Birdman,
Electric Prunes,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Marcia Griffiths,
Fatback Band,
Bronski Beat,
Johnny Osbourne,
Bobby Sherman,
R.M.O.,
Arthur Verocai,
Second Layer,
The Vogues,
Unrelated Segments,
Wolf Eyes,
Sex Pistols,
Terry Callier,
These Immortal Souls,
The Count Five,
The Detroit Cobras,
the Association,
Gang of Four,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Pharoah Sanders,
Bizarre Inc.,
Babytalk,
Thompson Twins,
Todd Rundgren,
David Bowie,
Public Image Ltd.,
Dorothy Ashby,
Nico,
Glenn Branca,
Skaos,
Swell Maps,
Man Parrish,
Joy Division,
Amon Düül II, Amon Düül II, Amon Düül II, Amon Düül II.
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.