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 United States and from Paris.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Taipei.
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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Golliwogs to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 One Last Wish. All the underground hits.
All John Holt tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Sound record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Barracudas record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Frankie Knuckles,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
The Standells,
David McCallum,
The Pretty Things,
The Monochrome Set,
Man Eating Sloth,
Radio Birdman,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Simply Red,
Minny Pops,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Symarip,
Lower 48,
John Cale,
Newcleus,
The Divine Comedy,
Junior Murvin,
The Slackers,
Excepter,
Robert Hood,
Ice-T,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Throbbing Gristle,
Grey Daturas,
Dorothy Ashby,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Average White Band,
Derrick May,
The Trojans,
Bauhaus,
T.S.O.L.,
Ralphi Rosario,
Tres Demented,
H. Thieme,
Dual Sessions,
Boogie Down Productions,
Qualms,
Silicon Teens,
Fela Kuti,
John Holt,
Reuben Wilson,
Nils Olav,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Jeru the Damaja,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Basic Channel,
Intrusion,
Faust,
Amon Düül,
David Axelrod,
Pet Shop Boys,
Rhythm & Sound,
Outsiders,
Soft Machine,
A Certain Ratio,
B.T. Express,
Yellowson,
Sugar Minott,
Cecil Taylor,
X-Ray Spex,
Dead Boys,
The Sound,
Alphaville, Alphaville, Alphaville, Alphaville.
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.