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 Saudi Arabia and from Tehran.
But I was there.
I was there in 1984.
I was there at the first Arcadia show in London.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mexico City 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 guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Thee Headcoats to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Tomorrow. All the underground hits.
All F. McDonald tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sad Lovers and Giants record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Vaughan Mason & Crew record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Lindisfarne,
X-102,
The Monochrome Set,
Marine Girls,
48th St. Collective,
Bobby Womack,
Boredoms,
Schoolly D,
The Fugs,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Tears for Fears,
Pylon,
The Dead C,
Lucky Dragons,
Harpers Bizarre,
Thee Headcoats,
Absolute Body Control,
The Seeds,
The Motions,
Jerry Gold Smith,
The Vogues,
Frankie Knuckles,
The Star Department,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Barbara Tucker,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Depeche Mode,
Jacques Brel,
Crime,
Liliput,
The Techniques,
Delta 5,
One Last Wish,
The Gun Club,
Shoche,
Drive Like Jehu,
Bauhaus,
The Litter,
The Fortunes,
The Golliwogs,
the Association,
Joe Smooth,
These Immortal Souls,
New Age Steppers,
Black Bananas,
Kevin Saunderson,
Godley & Creme,
Robert Hood,
Drexciya,
Eyeless In Gaza,
The Dirtbombs,
Robert Wyatt,
Sonny Sharrock,
Symarip,
Erykah Badu,
Graham Central Station,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Man Eating Sloth,
Bob Dylan,
Rites of Spring,
Con Funk Shun,
Hoover,
Barry Ungar,
The Knickerbockers, The Knickerbockers, The Knickerbockers, The Knickerbockers.
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.