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 Armenia and from Lyon.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1962 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Manila.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Calgary 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Mr. Review to the grunge 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 Royal Trux. All the underground hits.
All T.S.O.L. tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Hardrive record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Joyce Sims record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a 808.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Shoche,
Symarip,
Scion,
The Buckinghams,
Bobbi Humphrey,
the Normal,
Supertramp,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
The Angels of Light,
X-102,
Kurtis Blow,
Dual Sessions,
Sun City Girls,
Bob Dylan,
Sugar Minott,
Swans,
Rosa Yemen,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Franke,
The Sonics,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Can,
Bobby Sherman,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Crime,
Jimmy McGriff,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Wolf Eyes,
Ornette Coleman,
Connie Case,
Dave Gahan,
Porter Ricks,
The Moleskins,
Andrew Hill,
the Sonics,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Bobby Womack,
Mark Hollis,
The Young Rascals,
Boz Scaggs,
Aswad,
Roy Ayers,
Throbbing Gristle,
Max Romeo,
Peter and Kerry,
8 Eyed Spy,
Duran Duran,
Sam Rivers,
Frankie Knuckles,
Rod Modell,
The Birthday Party,
Rufus Thomas,
Moebius,
Laurel Aitken,
Livin' Joy,
Stiv Bators,
Suburban Knight,
The Electric Prunes,
Girls At Our Best!,
Dead Boys, Dead Boys, Dead Boys, Dead Boys.
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.