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 Equatorial Guinea and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1968 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Halifax 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 arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 American Breed to the crunk kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines. All the underground hits.
All Rod Modell tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Camberwell Now 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Bill Near record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Flesh Eaters,
Average White Band,
Mary Jane Girls,
Circle Jerks,
Lindisfarne,
Tears for Fears,
The Leaves,
Tomorrow,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Khruangbin,
The Residents,
Subhumans,
Scion,
Pylon,
The Tremeloes,
Curtis Mayfield,
Tubeway Army,
Television,
The Standells,
U.S. Maple,
Ralphi Rosario,
Das Ding,
the Germs,
Harpers Bizarre,
The Pretty Things,
Drive Like Jehu,
The Knickerbockers,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Lou Reed,
Sight & Sound,
The Vogues,
Alton Ellis,
A Certain Ratio,
Marshall Jefferson,
June of 44,
The Names,
Crime,
Metal Thangz,
Don Cherry,
Reagan Youth,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Lungfish,
The United States of America,
Simply Red,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Harry Pussy,
Sound Behaviour,
Albert Ayler,
Guru Guru,
The Doobie Brothers,
World's Most,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Pantytec,
La Düsseldorf,
Bobby Sherman,
Lou Christie,
Crooked Eye,
The Grass Roots,
The Mighty Diamonds,
The Smiths,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Hardrive,
The Monochrome Set,
Unrelated Segments,
Lakeside, Lakeside, Lakeside, Lakeside.
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.