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 Korea South and from Delhi.
But I was there.
I was there in 1978.
I was there at the first Visage 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 1965 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Houston and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Bang on a Can All-Stars to the grime 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 Alphaville. All the underground hits.
All Tubeway Army tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sixth Finger record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a T.S.O.L. record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The United States of America,
Zapp,
Lakeside,
The Moleskins,
Thee Headcoats,
Pussy Galore,
X-101,
Jeru the Damaja,
the Fania All-Stars,
Eric Dolphy,
Man Parrish,
Mandrill,
Babytalk,
Judy Mowatt,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Lou Christie,
The Durutti Column,
Blancmange,
Letta Mbulu,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Amon Düül II,
Fluxion,
Mars,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Slick Rick,
Throbbing Gristle,
The Fugs,
Ohio Players,
Mr. Review,
Harpers Bizarre,
Scan 7,
Symarip,
Outsiders,
The Sonics,
Glenn Branca,
New Order,
Sällskapet,
Drive Like Jehu,
The Offenders,
Soulsonic Force,
The Shadows of Knight,
Ornette Coleman,
Rod Modell,
Eric B and Rakim,
Moby Grape,
Jandek,
Jeff Lynne,
The Knickerbockers,
John Foxx,
X-Ray Spex,
The Standells,
Josef K,
Prince Buster,
Zero Boys,
Yellowson,
Royal Trux,
Cheater Slicks,
The Searchers,
Ronnie Foster,
Darondo, Darondo, Darondo, Darondo.
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.