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 Vietnam and from Stockholm.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Seoul and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 Captain Beefheart 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 June of 44 to the jazz 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 Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch. All the underground hits.
All The Detroit Cobras tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Martian record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Malaria! record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Funkadelic,
Newcleus,
Radiohead,
Severed Heads,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Scion,
Surgeon,
T. Rex,
Hoover,
Girls At Our Best!,
Grandmaster Flash,
Duran Duran,
Minor Threat,
Anthony Braxton,
Lalo Schifrin,
One Last Wish,
Mission of Burma,
Peter & Gordon,
Jawbox,
Sparks,
Outsiders,
Unrelated Segments,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Scan 7,
Gichy Dan,
Crooked Eye,
Goldenarms,
Derrick May,
Don Cherry,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
The Kinks,
Youth Brigade,
Sugar Minott,
Gang of Four,
Shoche,
Dead Boys,
Essential Logic,
Funky Four + One,
The Last Poets,
The Music Machine,
Letta Mbulu,
Radio Birdman,
The Dirtbombs,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Thompson Twins,
Pagans,
Con Funk Shun,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
The Toasters,
Bob Dylan,
Nico,
Smog,
Bobby Sherman,
Wings,
Altered Images,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Jacques Brel,
Henry Cow,
Drexciya,
Donny Hathaway,
Pierre Henry,
Prince Buster,
Al Stewart,
Rakim, Rakim, Rakim, Rakim.
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.