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 Venezuela and from Beijing.
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 1966 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Seoul.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lille 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 clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Eve St. Jones 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 the Normal. All the underground hits.
All Janne Schatter tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Can 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Flamin' Groovies record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Kinks,
Reuben Wilson,
The Leaves,
Kayak,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Zero Boys,
The Saints,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Agent Orange,
The Smoke,
Minutemen,
Lou Christie,
Spandau Ballet,
The Moody Blues,
Sun City Girls,
Intrusion,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
The Young Rascals,
The Barracudas,
The Red Krayola,
Buzzcocks,
The Evens,
the Germs,
Brick,
Jacques Brel,
Urselle,
Harry Pussy,
Tim Buckley,
The Count Five,
Suburban Knight,
Subhumans,
Darondo,
Fluxion,
Slave,
The Dave Clark Five,
X-102,
Kool Moe Dee,
Harpers Bizarre,
Tubeway Army,
The Human League,
Severed Heads,
Andrew Hill,
Parry Music,
Cabaret Voltaire,
John Coltrane,
The Golliwogs,
Grauzone,
The New Christs,
Arab on Radar,
The Trojans,
Section 25,
Cecil Taylor,
K-Klass,
Pere Ubu,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Index,
Gang Starr,
Rapeman,
Inner City,
Althea and Donna,
Main Source, Main Source, Main Source, Main Source.
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.