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 Spain and from Woodstock.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television show in New York.
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 1962 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 1971 at the first Big Star practice in a loft in Memphis.
I was working on the linndrum 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 Barry Ungar to the funk kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band. All the underground hits.
All Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Dead C 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Harry Pussy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
John Lydon,
Little Man,
The Blackbyrds,
Qualms,
Porter Ricks,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
John Cale,
Make Up,
Boredoms,
Absolute Body Control,
Hoover,
Wire,
Blossom Toes,
The Flesh Eaters,
David Bowie,
a-ha,
DJ Style,
Rosa Yemen,
The Cramps,
Cybotron,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Neil Young,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Sällskapet,
Fat Boys,
Chris & Cosey,
Juan Atkins,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Kaleidoscope,
Chris Corsano,
The Red Krayola,
Colin Newman,
Stockholm Monsters,
Josef K,
Ronan,
Oblivians,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Suicide,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
The Monochrome Set,
Steve Hackett,
Jimmy McGriff,
Tommy Roe,
Grauzone,
Scott Walker,
Bang On A Can,
Smog,
Byron Stingily,
The Count Five,
Grandmaster Flash,
Anthony Braxton,
Anakelly,
Camberwell Now,
Moebius,
Freddie Wadling,
Sound Behaviour,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
The Five Americans,
T.S.O.L.,
Bootsy Collins,
Crispian St. Peters,
Spandau Ballet,
The Mighty Diamonds,
The Knickerbockers, The Knickerbockers, The Knickerbockers, The Knickerbockers.
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.