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 El Salvador and from Mumbai.
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 1963 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Woodstock.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Jakarta 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 sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Anthony Braxton to the dance 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 Joe Smooth. All the underground hits.
All Lou Reed & John Cale tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Albert Ayler record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mission of Burma record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet 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?
H. Thieme,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Ronnie Foster,
Eric Dolphy,
Lucky Dragons,
Marcia Griffiths,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Angry Samoans,
Brass Construction,
Sällskapet,
Stetsasonic,
Severed Heads,
T. Rex,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
X-Ray Spex,
Funky Four + One,
Black Bananas,
The Raincoats,
Sun Ra,
Eve St. Jones,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Khruangbin,
Mo-Dettes,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
48th St. Collective,
The Techniques,
Black Sheep,
Fat Boys,
The Neon Judgement,
Cheater Slicks,
Matthew Bourne,
Crash Course in Science,
Boz Scaggs,
Desert Stars,
Bronski Beat,
Goldenarms,
Siglo XX,
Aural Exciters,
The Standells,
The Happenings,
Interpol,
The Stooges,
Jerry's Kids,
Guru Guru,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Masters at Work,
Nik Kershaw,
The Angels of Light,
Schoolly D,
Lebanon Hanover,
Hot Snakes,
John Coltrane,
The Real Kids,
Sam Rivers,
Joy Division,
Vainqueur,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Tropical Tobacco,
Dawn Penn, Dawn Penn, Dawn Penn, Dawn Penn.
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.