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 Comoros and from Bremen.
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 1960 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Halifax.
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 1976 at the first Buzzcocks practice in a loft in Bolton.
I was working on the marimba 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 The Electric Prunes to the rock kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Marc Almond. All the underground hits.
All The Misunderstood tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Black Pus 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Model 500 record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet 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?
Surgeon,
The Sisters of Mercy,
the Bar-Kays,
The Offenders,
Laurel Aitken,
Groovy Waters,
Oblivians,
Sight & Sound,
Bluetip,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Duran Duran,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Funky Four + One,
Pierre Henry,
Boz Scaggs,
Tears for Fears,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
the Soft Cell,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Crash Course in Science,
Kerrie Biddell,
Desert Stars,
Pantytec,
Young Marble Giants,
Tim Buckley,
Amon Düül II,
Cabaret Voltaire,
The Skatalites,
Funkadelic,
Ossler,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
the Normal,
Bill Wells,
The Victims,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
The Black Dice,
Kool Moe Dee,
Intrusion,
This Heat,
Dead Boys,
Organ,
Lebanon Hanover,
Marmalade,
Letta Mbulu,
The Star Department,
Smog,
Eden Ahbez,
Henry Cow,
Bobby Byrd,
Eurythmics,
Angry Samoans,
Stockholm Monsters,
The Count Five,
Crispian St. Peters,
Gastr Del Sol,
The Vogues,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
The Evens,
Masters at Work,
Jandek,
Eddi Front,
Lonnie Liston Smith, Lonnie Liston Smith, Lonnie Liston Smith, Lonnie Liston Smith.
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.