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 Rwanda and from Bologna.
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 1963 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Johannesburg.
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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Heaven 17 to the grunge 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 T. Rex. All the underground hits.
All Deadbeat tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Fat Boys 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Cheater Slicks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
the Swans,
the Sonics,
Donald Byrd,
Sandy B,
Rites of Spring,
The Divine Comedy,
Marc Almond,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Robert Görl,
Stiv Bators,
Curtis Mayfield,
Pole,
Los Fastidios,
Charles Mingus,
Junior Murvin,
Kerri Chandler,
The Kinks,
Fela Kuti,
Youth Brigade,
Laurel Aitken,
The Sonics,
Jeff Lynne,
Aswad,
The Shadows of Knight,
Slave,
Rod Modell,
Sun Ra,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
The Searchers,
Grauzone,
PIL,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
David Bowie,
Country Teasers,
Marmalade,
Jandek,
DJ Style,
The Sound,
Steve Hackett,
The Victims,
Cybotron,
Gil Scott Heron,
ABBA,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Ultravox,
La Düsseldorf,
Darondo,
Electric Prunes,
Gang Gang Dance,
Radio Birdman,
Buzzcocks,
Pantytec,
The Evens,
Prince Buster,
Spandau Ballet,
Wasted Youth,
Neil Young,
Blossom Toes,
Barry Ungar,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Gastr Del Sol,
The Tremeloes, The Tremeloes, The Tremeloes, The Tremeloes.
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.