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 Germany and from Bremen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic 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 1966 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school London 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 1977 at the first Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the spring reverb 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 Fugazi to the grime kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Move. All the underground hits.
All T.S.O.L. tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch 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 linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Victims record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Man Eating Sloth,
ABBA,
Porter Ricks,
The Flesh Eaters,
Rekid,
Susan Cadogan,
Gastr Del Sol,
Young Marble Giants,
In Retrospect,
Kurtis Blow,
Bill Wells,
Tropical Tobacco,
Gang Green,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
The Fall,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
The Leaves,
Mr. Review,
Ponytail,
Flamin' Groovies,
Alice Coltrane,
Black Bananas,
Archie Shepp,
Liliput,
the Swans,
Amon Düül II,
Piero Umiliani,
Circle Jerks,
Oblivians,
The Associates,
Todd Terry,
Avey Tare,
Aloha Tigers,
Rufus Thomas,
Wire,
Laurel Aitken,
H. Thieme,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Second Layer,
Monolake,
The Birthday Party,
ABC,
CMW,
Crash Course in Science,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
The Barracudas,
Roy Ayers,
The American Breed,
The Modern Lovers,
Amazonics,
Kerrie Biddell,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Isaac Hayes,
Jerry's Kids,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Negative Approach,
Mad Mike,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Jeru the Damaja,
John Cale,
London Community Gospel Choir, London Community Gospel Choir, London Community Gospel Choir, London Community Gospel Choir.
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.