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 Dominican Republic and from Bremen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1961 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 1978 at the first Visage practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Fuzztones to the techno 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 Lalann. All the underground hits.
All Lou Reed & Metallica tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Black Pus 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Boz Scaggs record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Niagra,
Procol Harum,
Interpol,
Roxy Music,
Minor Threat,
FM Einheit,
Eyeless In Gaza,
The American Breed,
U.S. Maple,
Von Mondo,
The Martian,
Roger Hodgson,
Rekid,
Nils Olav,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Blancmange,
The Litter,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Pussy Galore,
The Raincoats,
The Gories,
Ronan,
John Foxx,
The Flesh Eaters,
Ken Boothe,
Buzzcocks,
Idris Muhammad,
Dennis Brown,
48th St. Collective,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
8 Eyed Spy,
Cheater Slicks,
The Alarm Clocks,
The United States of America,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Nation of Ulysses,
Deakin,
Joey Negro,
ABC,
The Sound,
Mo-Dettes,
Mantronix,
Funkadelic,
Jawbox,
Freddie Wadling,
Loose Ends,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
MDC,
Ultra Naté,
Throbbing Gristle,
MC5,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
The Residents,
Depeche Mode,
AZ,
Juan Atkins,
A Certain Ratio,
Quantec,
Bob Dylan,
The Music Machine,
The Gladiators,
Ituana,
Harry Pussy, Harry Pussy, Harry Pussy, Harry Pussy.
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.