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 Liberia and from Tokyo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Wire show in Watford.
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 1965 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Taipei.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Seoul 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 1984 at the first Arcadia practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines to the techno kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Barclay James Harvest. All the underground hits.
All The Fire Engines tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Be Bop Deluxe record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Man Parrish record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Ice-T,
Anakelly,
Yellowson,
Donald Byrd,
Chris & Cosey,
Organ,
The Moleskins,
The Litter,
Barry Ungar,
Radio Birdman,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Cluster,
Fatback Band,
Reuben Wilson,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Chris Corsano,
Harpers Bizarre,
Bootsy Collins,
Fear,
Skaos,
Crime,
Alphaville,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Parry Music,
Jerry's Kids,
H. Thieme,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Matthew Halsall,
Electric Prunes,
Hashim,
Motorama,
Negative Approach,
James White and The Blacks,
Royal Trux,
These Immortal Souls,
Crash Course in Science,
Slave,
Symarip,
Bill Near,
The Human League,
Monolake,
Soulsonic Force,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
The Alarm Clocks,
Black Bananas,
The Happenings,
Scratch Acid,
Young Marble Giants,
Marmalade,
The Music Machine,
Connie Case,
Sonic Youth,
Nico,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
The Gories,
CMW,
Hoover,
Eric B and Rakim,
The Electric Prunes,
Moebius,
The Cramps,
Popol Vuh, Popol Vuh, Popol Vuh, Popol Vuh.
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.