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 Equatorial Guinea and from Hong Kong.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1969 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Milan.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 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 Lucky Dragons to the funk 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 Ajijia Myrayebe. All the underground hits.
All Crime tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Kerri Chandler record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Wings record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Mr. Review,
Darondo,
The Smiths,
Nation of Ulysses,
Banda Bassotti,
Avey Tare,
Barry Ungar,
Eric Copeland,
Camouflage,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Alton Ellis,
Peter & Gordon,
The Real Kids,
Q65,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Stiv Bators,
The Zeros,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Rekid,
Royal Trux,
Lower 48,
The New Christs,
Kaleidoscope,
The Fall,
Dennis Brown,
Minny Pops,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Shuggie Otis,
The Fuzztones,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Radio Birdman,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Gregory Isaacs,
The Happenings,
ABBA,
L. Decosne,
The Associates,
Radiohead,
Alphaville,
Aloha Tigers,
John Holt,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
The Cramps,
Silicon Teens,
Interpol,
Chris & Cosey,
The Gun Club,
Electric Prunes,
Tom Boy,
Spoonie Gee,
Cabaret Voltaire,
The Move,
Aural Exciters,
Arthur Verocai,
Deepchord,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
The Doobie Brothers,
Wire,
Charles Mingus,
China Crisis,
Cecil Taylor, Cecil Taylor, Cecil Taylor, Cecil Taylor.
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.