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 Swaziland and from Beijing.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Feelies show in Haledon.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lille 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 spring reverb 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 Bush Tetras to the punk kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Eric B and Rakim. All the underground hits.
All Sällskapet tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Music Machine record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Beasts of Bourbon record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Porter Ricks,
Quando Quango,
The Smiths,
Fluxion,
Lalann,
Judy Mowatt,
Symarip,
Make Up,
Barrington Levy,
UT,
Godley & Creme,
The Flesh Eaters,
The Dave Clark Five,
D'Angelo,
The Fall,
Cal Tjader,
Sight & Sound,
The Beau Brummels,
Pantaleimon,
Flamin' Groovies,
The Gun Club,
Leonard Cohen,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Juan Atkins,
John Coltrane,
The Cramps,
Ultimate Spinach,
Tim Buckley,
Wally Richardson,
The Cowsills,
The Modern Lovers,
The Zeros,
Junior Murvin,
The Doobie Brothers,
Morten Harket,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
The Saints,
Susan Cadogan,
The Kinks,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
FM Einheit,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
DNA,
Fad Gadget,
Eli Mardock,
Joensuu 1685,
Neu!,
Basic Channel,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
The Invisible,
Sex Pistols,
Hashim,
The Smoke,
Sixth Finger,
Frankie Knuckles,
Ronnie Foster,
Reuben Wilson,
Saccharine Trust,
Spandau Ballet,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Gregory Isaacs, Gregory Isaacs, Gregory Isaacs, Gregory Isaacs.
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.