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 Eritrea and from London.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South London.
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 1966 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 1976 at the first Wire practice in a loft in Watford.
I was working on the spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Ludus to the techno kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud. All the underground hits.
All H. Thieme tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Barbara Tucker 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Crime record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Barclay James Harvest,
Fugazi,
Ice-T,
Nirvana,
Symarip,
The Black Dice,
Frankie Knuckles,
Boredoms,
Panda Bear,
This Heat,
The Pop Group,
Dawn Penn,
The Toasters,
Sight & Sound,
Lindisfarne,
John Lydon,
Ludus,
Don Cherry,
Scratch Acid,
Jacques Brel,
Marc Almond,
Lebanon Hanover,
Harry Pussy,
Smog,
Brass Construction,
Erykah Badu,
Dorothy Ashby,
Icehouse,
Wings,
The Fugs,
Marshall Jefferson,
Rufus Thomas,
Ultimate Spinach,
Eric Dolphy,
Mary Jane Girls,
The Mummies,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
The Doors,
Neil Young,
Tommy Roe,
John Holt,
The Skatalites,
Silicon Teens,
World's Most,
Alton Ellis,
CMW,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Audionom,
Duran Duran,
T.S.O.L.,
June Days,
Sound Behaviour,
Bobby Sherman,
Warsaw,
Flipper,
Terry Callier,
Second Layer,
Jeru the Damaja,
Johnny Osbourne,
Jesper Dahlback,
Ornette Coleman,
Bobby Byrd,
Moby Grape, Moby Grape, Moby Grape, Moby Grape.
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.