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 Ethiopia and from Spokane.
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 1967 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Spokane.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bremen 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 1975 at the first Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the theremin 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 Gabor Szabo to the rap kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 The Count Five. All the underground hits.
All Minnie Riperton tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Selector Dub Narcotic record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a T.S.O.L. record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Monolake,
Angry Samoans,
Mary Jane Girls,
Franke,
The Smiths,
Alice Coltrane,
Mark Hollis,
Lebanon Hanover,
The Gories,
Lightning Bolt,
PIL,
The Alarm Clocks,
Trumans Water,
Deepchord,
Tres Demented,
Bang On A Can,
Lalann,
Masters at Work,
Television Personalities,
Mantronix,
Amazonics,
Boredoms,
Cluster,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Pulsallama,
Lalo Schifrin,
Black Pus,
June Days,
Yusef Lateef,
Roy Ayers,
Babytalk,
The Human League,
Bob Dylan,
Chrome,
Underground Resistance,
Adolescents,
Todd Rundgren,
Rhythm & Sound,
Minutemen,
Dennis Brown,
China Crisis,
Royal Trux,
The Fire Engines,
Sarah Menescal,
Procol Harum,
Bill Wells,
the Slits,
Soft Cell,
Pharoah Sanders,
Radiohead,
Malaria!,
One Last Wish,
Todd Terry,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
The Monochrome Set,
Jawbox,
Jacques Brel,
ABBA,
Gerry Rafferty,
Sister Nancy,
Moss Icon,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Steve Hackett,
Fluxion, Fluxion, Fluxion, Fluxion.
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.