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 South Africa and from Lyon.
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 1965 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the spring reverb 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 R.M.O. to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Gian Franco Pienzio. All the underground hits.
All Teenage Jesus and the Jerks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Steve Hackett record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz 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 an oboe and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Bob Dylan record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
B.T. Express,
Malaria!,
Minny Pops,
Joyce Sims,
Icehouse,
Underground Resistance,
Flamin' Groovies,
John Cale,
Spandau Ballet,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Joy Division,
Franke,
kango's stein massive,
Ohio Players,
Das Ding,
Ossler,
Sugar Minott,
Oblivians,
Harry Pussy,
June Days,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Ultravox,
Maleditus Sound,
Soft Machine,
The Leaves,
Lalann,
Animal Collective,
Leonard Cohen,
Cheater Slicks,
The J.B.'s,
Y Pants,
Qualms,
Jawbox,
The Motions,
Flash Fearless,
Tom Boy,
Half Japanese,
The Trojans,
Scientists,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Kayak,
Throbbing Gristle,
Brass Construction,
Tubeway Army,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
The Durutti Column,
David Axelrod,
Whodini,
Morten Harket,
Black Moon,
The Monks,
Curtis Mayfield,
Country Teasers,
Erykah Badu,
Unrelated Segments,
Minor Threat,
Jerry Gold Smith,
The Vogues,
Rosa Yemen,
Clear Light,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Sexual Harrassment,
Lightning Bolt, Lightning Bolt, Lightning Bolt, Lightning Bolt.
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.