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 Marshall Islands and from Johannesburg.
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 1968 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Calgary.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Seoul 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 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the spring reverb 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 Moody Blues to the grime kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Girls At Our Best!. All the underground hits.
All Model 500 tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Babytalk record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Crime record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Offenders,
A Flock of Seagulls,
The Grass Roots,
Sight & Sound,
Agent Orange,
Aloha Tigers,
Albert Ayler,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Schoolly D,
Hoover,
The Techniques,
The Slits,
Dual Sessions,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Camouflage,
Skarface,
The Cosmic Jokers,
John Holt,
The Motions,
Sixth Finger,
Severed Heads,
Swans,
Brothers Johnson,
Janne Schatter,
Avey Tare,
Sandy B,
The Count Five,
Maleditus Sound,
Tom Boy,
Byron Stingily,
The Dirtbombs,
Bronski Beat,
Public Image Ltd.,
H. Thieme,
Neil Young,
Big Daddy Kane,
Jawbox,
Jeff Lynne,
Hot Snakes,
Sarah Menescal,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Unrelated Segments,
8 Eyed Spy,
Urselle,
Theoretical Girls,
Moby Grape,
Deakin,
Soft Machine,
Interpol,
Ash Ra Tempel,
the Soft Cell,
Rufus Thomas,
The Fortunes,
Bush Tetras,
Rekid,
The Names,
Sly & The Family Stone,
The Wake,
The Red Krayola,
The Kinks,
Barrington Levy, Barrington Levy, Barrington Levy, Barrington Levy.
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.