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 Kenya and from Manila.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle show in 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 1964 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Edmonton 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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the guitar 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 Franke to the electroclash 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 Blancmange. All the underground hits.
All The Royal Family And The Poor tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Vogues record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 a theremin and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Can record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Jeff Lynne,
The Fall,
John Cale,
Terry Callier,
Graham Central Station,
Swell Maps,
Soul Sonic Force,
The Slits,
Main Source,
Newcleus,
Hot Snakes,
LL Cool J,
Eurythmics,
Thompson Twins,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Funkadelic,
Smog,
Black Sheep,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Lou Christie,
DNA,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
U.S. Maple,
Lee Hazlewood,
Echospace,
Talk Talk,
Skarface,
The Smoke,
The Saints,
Bootsy Collins,
The Seeds,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Harry Pussy,
Index,
Avey Tare,
Sight & Sound,
Das Ding,
Bang On A Can,
Monolake,
Al Stewart,
Underground Resistance,
Man Parrish,
Marmalade,
Adolescents,
Deepchord,
Japan,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Dennis Brown,
The Zeros,
Lucky Dragons,
Kaleidoscope,
Theoretical Girls,
Severed Heads,
Television,
Aural Exciters,
the Sonics,
Pussy Galore,
Babytalk,
Blake Baxter, Blake Baxter, Blake Baxter, Blake Baxter.
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.