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 Portland.
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 1961 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Pere Ubu to the grime kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Black Bananas. All the underground hits.
All Arthur Verocai tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Doors 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Beau Brummels record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
John Lydon,
Delta 5,
Connie Case,
The Fugs,
Moebius,
Eurythmics,
Moby Grape,
The Red Krayola,
Second Layer,
Franke,
Wolf Eyes,
Monks,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Pantytec,
Alphaville,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Warsaw,
Bobby Byrd,
Radio Birdman,
The Gun Club,
Saccharine Trust,
The Searchers,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Maurizio,
The Standells,
Iggy Pop,
Ronnie Foster,
Barrington Levy,
Eve St. Jones,
T.S.O.L.,
Godley & Creme,
This Heat,
Yusef Lateef,
Malaria!,
the Soft Cell,
Country Teasers,
Johnny Osbourne,
Black Pus,
Hoover,
The Fuzztones,
L. Decosne,
ABBA,
The Shadows of Knight,
Bluetip,
Eden Ahbez,
Soft Cell,
Mandrill,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Trumans Water,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Oblivians,
Depeche Mode,
Pierre Henry,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Eric B and Rakim,
Soulsonic Force,
The Human League,
Blancmange,
Yaz,
Siglo XX,
Intrusion,
Lucky Dragons,
Scan 7,
The Golliwogs,
The Moleskins, The Moleskins, The Moleskins, The Moleskins.
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.