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 Eritrea and from Philadelphia.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 1966 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Toronto.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 Wire practice in a loft in Watford.
I was working on the linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Brick to the rock kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 The Walker Brothers. All the underground hits.
All The Human League tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gang Green record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Ken Boothe,
48th St. Collective,
The Young Rascals,
Whodini,
Popol Vuh,
The Durutti Column,
Camberwell Now,
Sandy B,
Fatback Band,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Wasted Youth,
LL Cool J,
The Red Krayola,
The Fire Engines,
Cluster,
Sparks,
The Skatalites,
Slave,
Black Pus,
Man Parrish,
E-Dancer,
Moby Grape,
KRS-One,
Bush Tetras,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
The Music Machine,
World's Most,
Radiohead,
Harry Pussy,
Roxette,
Circle Jerks,
Dead Boys,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Ultimate Spinach,
The Mummies,
Mary Jane Girls,
Ponytail,
Arcadia,
Derrick May,
Das Ding,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
James White and The Blacks,
Magazine,
The Pop Group,
Metal Thangz,
Gil Scott Heron,
The Selecter,
The Mojo Men,
Infiniti,
Boredoms,
Crispy Ambulance,
Barry Ungar,
Gang Starr,
The Misunderstood,
Agent Orange,
Trumans Water,
David Bowie,
Tears for Fears,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Sun Ra,
Sixth Finger, Sixth Finger, Sixth Finger, Sixth Finger.
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.