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 Estonia and from Manchester.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide 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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mexico City 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 1976 at the first Wire practice in a loft in Watford.
I was working on the guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band to the dance kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Smiths. All the underground hits.
All Bauhaus tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Radiopuhelimet record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Hasil Adkins record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
A Flock of Seagulls,
Scratch Acid,
Gregory Isaacs,
John Cale,
Cecil Taylor,
Danielle Patucci,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
The Moleskins,
The Evens,
The Leaves,
Dawn Penn,
Marcia Griffiths,
Soft Cell,
Cal Tjader,
Robert Hood,
B.T. Express,
Make Up,
Young Marble Giants,
Lindisfarne,
Kurtis Blow,
Goldenarms,
Intrusion,
Jawbox,
The Stooges,
Andrew Hill,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
The Mojo Men,
The Moody Blues,
Hot Snakes,
Dual Sessions,
Sun Ra,
Depeche Mode,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Oblivians,
The Selecter,
The Dirtbombs,
New Age Steppers,
Cameo,
Chris & Cosey,
Slick Rick,
Angry Samoans,
Eve St. Jones,
X-102,
The Happenings,
Black Moon,
Smog,
Ludus,
Monks,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Anakelly,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Jesper Dahlback,
Tears for Fears,
Marc Almond,
Amon Düül II,
the Slits,
James White and The Blacks,
The Electric Prunes,
The Slackers,
Ultravox, Ultravox, Ultravox, Ultravox.
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.