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 Romania and from Bremen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1964 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Crispian St. Peters to the punk kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Pretty Things. All the underground hits.
All Thompson Twins tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bluetip record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge 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 spring reverb and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Human League record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
T. Rex,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Tears for Fears,
Magma,
Saccharine Trust,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Amon Düül II,
Duran Duran,
F. McDonald,
Popol Vuh,
The Sonics,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Glenn Branca,
Kool Moe Dee,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Shuggie Otis,
Marc Almond,
David Bowie,
DJ Sneak,
Kerrie Biddell,
Little Man,
Scrapy,
Khruangbin,
Banda Bassotti,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
the Sonics,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
The Durutti Column,
Boogie Down Productions,
Metal Thangz,
Ituana,
Vladislav Delay,
Howard Jones,
ABBA,
The Motions,
Silicon Teens,
Kas Product,
Godley & Creme,
Motorama,
Sun City Girls,
New Order,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Audionom,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
The Neon Judgement,
David Axelrod,
Moss Icon,
Dorothy Ashby,
Mo-Dettes,
Wolf Eyes,
Joyce Sims,
Lindisfarne,
Underground Resistance,
The Music Machine,
JFA,
Andrew Hill,
Newcleus,
Tommy Roe,
Rites of Spring,
Pierre Henry,
The Saints, The Saints, The Saints, The Saints.
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.