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 Bulgaria and from New York.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Josef K show in Edinburgh.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 1977 at the first Zapp practice in a loft in Hamilton.
I was working on the linndrum 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 Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Connie Case. All the underground hits.
All The Remains tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Saints 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
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 T.S.O.L. record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Los Fastidios,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Barry Ungar,
Supertramp,
The Fugs,
Sam Rivers,
Television Personalities,
The Dead C,
Robert Hood,
Second Layer,
The Victims,
X-101,
Sugar Minott,
Curtis Mayfield,
Kaleidoscope,
The Barracudas,
Lower 48,
Dark Day,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Mark Hollis,
Con Funk Shun,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Neil Young,
F. McDonald,
The Toasters,
Harmonia,
Eve St. Jones,
Ice-T,
the Association,
Reagan Youth,
Soft Cell,
Clear Light,
Yazoo,
Be Bop Deluxe,
The Buckinghams,
X-102,
Harpers Bizarre,
Kenny Larkin,
Bad Manners,
Delta 5,
James White and The Blacks,
the Bar-Kays,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
Jawbox,
Boz Scaggs,
Gang Starr,
Lalo Schifrin,
Max Romeo,
Man Parrish,
Pantytec,
Dawn Penn,
EPMD,
The Detroit Cobras,
Spandau Ballet,
Ossler,
Qualms,
Wasted Youth,
Amon Düül II,
Gastr Del Sol,
The Alarm Clocks,
The Standells,
Easy Going, Easy Going, Easy Going, Easy Going.
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.