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 Congo and from Toronto.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Soft Boys show in Cambridge.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bremen and Manchester.
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 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the theremin 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 Public Enemy to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Fire Engines. All the underground hits.
All Fort Wilson Riot tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every the Germs record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Freddie Wadling record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
A Flock of Seagulls,
Kerri Chandler,
Tropical Tobacco,
Nas,
Bootsy Collins,
Hasil Adkins,
Sight & Sound,
Mission of Burma,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
The Doobie Brothers,
Surgeon,
Morten Harket,
Oneida,
Agitation Free,
Eddi Front,
8 Eyed Spy,
Alice Coltrane,
The Monks,
Shuggie Otis,
Negative Approach,
Magazine,
The Pop Group,
Harry Pussy,
X-102,
Eric Copeland,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Fluxion,
The Moleskins,
Hot Snakes,
Sonny Sharrock,
The Wake,
Unwound,
The Gun Club,
The Invisible,
Yusef Lateef,
Wally Richardson,
The Busters,
Junior Murvin,
Pussy Galore,
Wire,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Delta 5,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Yaz,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Barry Ungar,
Ornette Coleman,
Crime,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Howard Jones,
Peter & Gordon,
Half Japanese,
Funky Four + One,
Avey Tare,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Gang Green,
Gong,
Marine Girls,
the Swans,
Roy Ayers,
Procol Harum,
CMW, CMW, CMW, CMW.
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.