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 Cape Verde and from New York.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and Taipei.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 1979 at the first Josef K practice in a loft in Edinburgh.
I was working on the harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Traffic Nightmare to the punk 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 Roy Ayers Ubiquity. All the underground hits.
All U.S. Maple tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Beasts of Bourbon record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Jimmy McGriff record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
U.S. Maple,
Arthur Verocai,
Pantaleimon,
The Slits,
Flamin' Groovies,
Donny Hathaway,
The Smiths,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Hoover,
EPMD,
Technova,
The Barracudas,
Mary Jane Girls,
T. Rex,
Nils Olav,
Wings,
Grauzone,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
The Count Five,
Prince Buster,
The Trojans,
Camberwell Now,
The Beau Brummels,
Panda Bear,
Cameo,
Rosa Yemen,
Mr. Review,
Malaria!,
Spandau Ballet,
Moby Grape,
Throbbing Gristle,
cv313,
Ludus,
Al Stewart,
The Dirtbombs,
The Dead C,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Barclay James Harvest,
Byron Stingily,
Thompson Twins,
World's Most,
Barrington Levy,
Jeru the Damaja,
Judy Mowatt,
The Human League,
R.M.O.,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Gabor Szabo,
Yellowson,
Jacques Brel,
The Monks,
Fat Boys,
Liliput,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Man Parrish,
Connie Case,
Black Flag,
Cluster,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Quando Quango,
Marmalade, Marmalade, Marmalade, Marmalade.
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.