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 Dominican Republic and from Salvador.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1962 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 1983 at the first Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the rhodes 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 Pantytec to the grime 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 Television Personalities. All the underground hits.
All Jesper Dahlbäck tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Flesh Eaters record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Boredoms record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Beau Brummels,
The Dirtbombs,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Big Daddy Kane,
A Certain Ratio,
The Slits,
The Monks,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
The Gun Club,
Janne Schatter,
Ronnie Foster,
The Saints,
Wolf Eyes,
Soul Sonic Force,
Juan Atkins,
Wally Richardson,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
the Swans,
D'Angelo,
The Modern Lovers,
Scott Walker,
The Real Kids,
Yusef Lateef,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Ultravox,
Susan Cadogan,
Connie Case,
Alice Coltrane,
Kurtis Blow,
The Velvet Underground,
The Vogues,
Rosa Yemen,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Dawn Penn,
Model 500,
Mantronix,
Steve Hackett,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
The Red Krayola,
Rod Modell,
The Happenings,
The Smoke,
Absolute Body Control,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Al Stewart,
Dark Day,
The Index,
The Black Dice,
The United States of America,
Angry Samoans,
Royal Trux,
Godley & Creme,
Freddie Wadling,
Gang Gang Dance,
Stiv Bators,
La Düsseldorf,
Flipper,
Tears for Fears,
Marvin Gaye,
Lee Hazlewood,
Isaac Hayes,
Warren Ellis, Warren Ellis, Warren Ellis, Warren Ellis.
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.