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 Indonesia and from Shanghai.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Manchester.
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 808 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 Matthew Bourne to the techno kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Ken Boothe. All the underground hits.
All It's A Beautiful Day tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Ornette Coleman record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Royal Family And The Poor record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Dirtbombs,
The Alarm Clocks,
Tommy Roe,
Tears for Fears,
Jeru the Damaja,
Qualms,
Eddi Front,
The Music Machine,
Suicide,
The Toasters,
The Blues Magoos,
John Lydon,
Robert Wyatt,
The Fall,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Niagra,
The Dave Clark Five,
Gil Scott Heron,
Gang of Four,
The Cure,
Susan Cadogan,
Second Layer,
Talk Talk,
Organ,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Lou Reed,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Jeff Mills,
Henry Cow,
Soul II Soul,
Symarip,
Supertramp,
The Smoke,
Kaleidoscope,
The Wake,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Lou Christie,
Bang On A Can,
Tres Demented,
This Heat,
Swans,
Robert Hood,
Blossom Toes,
Lightning Bolt,
Pylon,
Duran Duran,
Schoolly D,
Theoretical Girls,
Royal Trux,
Amon Düül II,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
The Walker Brothers,
Sister Nancy,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Alison Limerick,
Marvin Gaye,
Peter and Kerry,
Drexciya,
Oneida,
U.S. Maple,
Harry Pussy, Harry Pussy, Harry Pussy, Harry Pussy.
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.