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 Haiti and from Paris.
But I was there.
I was there in 1970.
I was there at the first Onyeabor show in Enugu.
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 1960 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Portland.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow 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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the chamberlin 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 The Moleskins to the rock kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade. All the underground hits.
All Ultravox tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Nirvana record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a PIL record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
The Five Americans,
David Axelrod,
Von Mondo,
Rakim,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Lungfish,
The Young Rascals,
Unrelated Segments,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Leonard Cohen,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
These Immortal Souls,
Fat Boys,
Faust,
PIL,
Gabor Szabo,
The Smoke,
Traffic Nightmare,
Brick,
Al Stewart,
The Vogues,
The Slits,
Jerry's Kids,
Moebius,
Severed Heads,
Agitation Free,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
The J.B.'s,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Freddie Wadling,
The Cosmic Jokers,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Kas Product,
Trumans Water,
Quantec,
Scrapy,
The Move,
CMW,
Arthur Verocai,
Boredoms,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Joey Negro,
Mantronix,
Sight & Sound,
Sällskapet,
Theoretical Girls,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Malaria!,
Dark Day,
Flipper,
Fear,
Nas,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
David McCallum,
Susan Cadogan,
Pole,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Donald Byrd,
Charles Mingus,
Pussy Galore,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Howard Jones, Howard Jones, Howard Jones, Howard Jones.
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.