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 Tonga and from Lagos.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Halifax and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Halifax 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 1983 at the first Lewis practice in a loft in Vancouver.
I was working on the guitar 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 Dave Gahan to the techno kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Wake. All the underground hits.
All The United States of America tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sad Lovers and Giants record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 spring reverb and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Hot Snakes record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Black Pus,
Neu!,
Spandau Ballet,
The Fortunes,
Underground Resistance,
T. Rex,
Eddi Front,
The Monks,
Radiopuhelimet,
The Index,
The Trojans,
Lucky Dragons,
Outsiders,
Silicon Teens,
Desert Stars,
Isaac Hayes,
Big Daddy Kane,
John Lydon,
Livin' Joy,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Young Marble Giants,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
The Fugs,
Arab on Radar,
Avey Tare,
John Coltrane,
The Remains,
R.M.O.,
Swans,
Oblivians,
Janne Schatter,
Deakin,
Robert Wyatt,
Anthony Braxton,
Barrington Levy,
Eden Ahbez,
Babytalk,
MC5,
Das Ding,
Newcleus,
UT,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Sällskapet,
David McCallum,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
The Kinks,
Massinfluence,
Gastr Del Sol,
Rufus Thomas,
Country Teasers,
Eve St. Jones,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Depeche Mode,
Lungfish,
Johnny Clarke,
Boogie Down Productions,
Jacques Brel,
Average White Band,
Albert Ayler,
Banda Bassotti,
Arthur Verocai, Arthur Verocai, Arthur Verocai, Arthur Verocai.
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.