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 the UAE and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Columbus 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 Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the synthesizer 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 The Mummies to the rock 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 Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog. All the underground hits.
All EPMD tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Robert Hood record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock 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 an arpeggiator and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Jacob Miller record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pagans,
The Busters,
The Five Americans,
The Gun Club,
Brick,
The Names,
Eddi Front,
New Age Steppers,
Neu!,
Half Japanese,
Marine Girls,
the Association,
Barclay James Harvest,
Idris Muhammad,
Barry Ungar,
Loose Ends,
Deepchord,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Terrestrial Tones,
Ronan,
Wire,
H. Thieme,
8 Eyed Spy,
Mr. Review,
OOIOO,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
48th St. Collective,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Roxette,
the Soft Cell,
Shuggie Otis,
Visage,
Cybotron,
Unwound,
Bobby Byrd,
Chris Corsano,
Los Fastidios,
Brand Nubian,
Kurtis Blow,
Don Cherry,
Bluetip,
Crash Course in Science,
The Modern Lovers,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Outsiders,
John Lydon,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Reagan Youth,
Buzzcocks,
China Crisis,
Swell Maps,
T.S.O.L.,
Hot Snakes,
Bang On A Can,
Ultravox,
Make Up,
Radiohead,
Lightning Bolt,
Sight & Sound,
Stetsasonic,
Royal Trux, Royal Trux, Royal Trux, Royal Trux.
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.