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 France and from Hong Kong.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1967 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tokyo and Lagos.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the 808 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 Eve St. Jones to the grunge 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 Y Pants. All the underground hits.
All Index tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Ohio Players record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock 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 mellotron and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Be Bop Deluxe record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Walker Brothers,
Man Parrish,
Nils Olav,
The American Breed,
Dead Boys,
Shuggie Otis,
The Fugs,
Kas Product,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Robert Wyatt,
Scientists,
The Fire Engines,
Ken Boothe,
OOIOO,
Stetsasonic,
Little Man,
Arab on Radar,
Das Ding,
Robert Hood,
Franke,
Swans,
Terry Callier,
Flamin' Groovies,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
The Offenders,
The Wake,
Black Bananas,
Bad Manners,
Jawbox,
Cal Tjader,
Bauhaus,
The New Christs,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Ronan,
Dave Gahan,
Eli Mardock,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
New Age Steppers,
The Skatalites,
The Mighty Diamonds,
cv313,
Warsaw,
Yazoo,
Crispy Ambulance,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
The United States of America,
Alphaville,
Whodini,
Brick,
Gang Starr,
Man Eating Sloth,
Malaria!,
Howard Jones,
Charles Mingus,
The Buckinghams,
Tubeway Army,
The Black Dice,
Q and Not U,
Angry Samoans,
Sandy B, Sandy B, Sandy B, Sandy B.
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.