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 Madagascar and from Manila.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Manila.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Jesus and Mary Chain to the electroclash kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Slick Rick. All the underground hits.
All Richard Hell and the Voidoids tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Shuggie Otis 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Scion record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Radio Birdman,
Darondo,
Ultravox,
The Shadows of Knight,
The Remains,
Con Funk Shun,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Marshall Jefferson,
Kevin Saunderson,
Guru Guru,
Leonard Cohen,
The Divine Comedy,
Quando Quango,
Albert Ayler,
Japan,
The Evens,
Stockholm Monsters,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Eric Copeland,
Ten City,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Fifty Foot Hose,
8 Eyed Spy,
The Fortunes,
The Motions,
Kenny Larkin,
The Cramps,
Metal Thangz,
Barry Ungar,
Funky Four + One,
Pantytec,
PIL,
Marc Almond,
Mad Mike,
Kayak,
The Barracudas,
The Fire Engines,
Duran Duran,
Boredoms,
The Move,
The Tremeloes,
Deakin,
Pere Ubu,
U.S. Maple,
The Victims,
Man Parrish,
The Raincoats,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Joy Division,
Maleditus Sound,
DJ Style,
Tropical Tobacco,
Wally Richardson,
B.T. Express,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Shuggie Otis,
Drexciya,
Althea and Donna,
Swans,
Gabor Szabo,
Joey Negro,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Cameo,
Lightning Bolt, Lightning Bolt, Lightning Bolt, Lightning Bolt.
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.