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 Zambia and from Spokane.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
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 1967 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Milan.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Amon Düül II to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Germs. All the underground hits.
All Radio Birdman tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Eyeless In Gaza 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Divine Comedy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Names,
Amazonics,
Joyce Sims,
Gong,
Tears for Fears,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Freddie Wadling,
Nick Fraelich,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Kool Moe Dee,
Roy Ayers,
Letta Mbulu,
Swell Maps,
Stereo Dub,
Josef K,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
The Slackers,
Bootsy Collins,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
U.S. Maple,
The Angels of Light,
Lakeside,
Unrelated Segments,
The Evens,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Minny Pops,
Chris Corsano,
The United States of America,
Jandek,
The Last Poets,
The Young Rascals,
Kerrie Biddell,
Ronnie Foster,
Slick Rick,
Sandy B,
Warren Ellis,
Hoover,
The Cure,
Malaria!,
The Fuzztones,
Jawbox,
Siglo XX,
Agent Orange,
Bobby Byrd,
Ten City,
Joe Smooth,
The Star Department,
Harpers Bizarre,
Johnny Clarke,
Arthur Verocai,
Pierre Henry,
Kenny Larkin,
The Stooges,
DJ Sneak,
The Monks,
Yaz,
The Victims,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Kurtis Blow,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
David Bowie,
Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols.
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.