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 Taiwan and from Portland.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Wire show in Watford.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 1983 at the first Lewis practice in a loft in Vancouver.
I was working on the snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Pet Shop Boys to the techno kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 James Chance & The Contortions. All the underground hits.
All Severed Heads tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Funkadelic record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge 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 chamberlin and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Men They Couldn't Hang record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Funky Four + One,
Harry Pussy,
Motorama,
kango's stein massive,
Y Pants,
Harmonia,
Reuben Wilson,
the Slits,
Robert Wyatt,
Traffic Nightmare,
Underground Resistance,
The Flesh Eaters,
Livin' Joy,
Radiohead,
Zapp,
The Doobie Brothers,
Main Source,
Matthew Bourne,
The Five Americans,
The Cramps,
Deepchord,
Black Pus,
Monolake,
Shuggie Otis,
Thee Headcoats,
the Normal,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
John Cale,
Rufus Thomas,
Rites of Spring,
Ronnie Foster,
Silicon Teens,
Amazonics,
The Detroit Cobras,
John Holt,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Faust,
Judy Mowatt,
New Age Steppers,
Wings,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Spandau Ballet,
Tears for Fears,
Bobby Womack,
Throbbing Gristle,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Cecil Taylor,
Slave,
Sarah Menescal,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
Goldenarms,
Metal Thangz,
Ultra Naté,
Soft Machine,
Country Joe & The Fish,
DJ Style,
Marmalade,
Alice Coltrane,
Joe Finger,
Siglo XX,
Television,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
DNA, DNA, DNA, DNA.
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.