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 Uruguay and from Woodstock.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle show in London.
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 1965 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Hong Kong 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 1976 at the first Buzzcocks practice in a loft in Bolton.
I was working on the spring reverb 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 Minutemen to the punk kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Glenn Branca. All the underground hits.
All E-Dancer tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Eyeless In Gaza record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Girls At Our Best! record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Suicide,
B.T. Express,
Sarah Menescal,
The Shadows of Knight,
Cheater Slicks,
Wasted Youth,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
The Barracudas,
A Certain Ratio,
Spoonie Gee,
Dawn Penn,
One Last Wish,
Soft Machine,
Minutemen,
Sixth Finger,
Pere Ubu,
Matthew Bourne,
Laurel Aitken,
The Star Department,
Harpers Bizarre,
Sonny Sharrock,
Zapp,
Jeff Lynne,
L. Decosne,
The Toasters,
Masters at Work,
Sexual Harrassment,
Moss Icon,
Jesper Dahlback,
Reagan Youth,
Sun Ra,
Byron Stingily,
Roger Hodgson,
Pantytec,
Procol Harum,
Quantec,
Youth Brigade,
Boredoms,
Saccharine Trust,
The Birthday Party,
Oblivians,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
48th St. Collective,
Average White Band,
Newcleus,
Brand Nubian,
Von Mondo,
Depeche Mode,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Marc Almond,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
The Buckinghams,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Davy DMX,
Pole,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Derrick Morgan,
Public Enemy,
Skaos,
The New Christs,
Loose Ends,
The Blues Magoos,
The Remains, The Remains, The Remains, The Remains.
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.