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 Paraguay and from Tehran.
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 1966 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 1978 at the first Visage practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the snare 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 Bad Manners to the grime 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 Angry Samoans. All the underground hits.
All Main Source tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Strawberry Alarm Clock record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Marshall Jefferson record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Underground Resistance,
Crispy Ambulance,
Desert Stars,
Symarip,
Judy Mowatt,
Black Pus,
kango's stein massive,
Tropical Tobacco,
The Fugs,
Alphaville,
Public Enemy,
Juan Atkins,
Visage,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Hasil Adkins,
Altered Images,
The Motions,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Chris & Cosey,
Trumans Water,
Joe Finger,
The Invisible,
Derrick May,
The Kinks,
Robert Wyatt,
The United States of America,
The Modern Lovers,
The Gories,
Fela Kuti,
In Retrospect,
Glambeats Corp.,
Don Cherry,
Yazoo,
La Düsseldorf,
Mars,
the Soft Cell,
Charles Mingus,
Intrusion,
Mad Mike,
Gang Starr,
Niagra,
Supertramp,
Liliput,
The Doors,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Althea and Donna,
Spoonie Gee,
Colin Newman,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Mark Hollis,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Warsaw,
Lakeside,
Neil Young,
Joe Smooth,
Bizarre Inc.,
Amazonics,
T.S.O.L.,
Howard Jones,
Matthew Bourne,
Q and Not U, Q and Not U, Q and Not U, Q and Not U.
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.