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 Palau and from Mexico City.
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 1964 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Taipei.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Salvador 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the guitar 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 The Mummies to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Gories. All the underground hits.
All Camberwell Now tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Freddie Wadling 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Inner City record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
B.T. Express,
David Bowie,
Stetsasonic,
Lindisfarne,
Talk Talk,
Althea and Donna,
The Techniques,
Scratch Acid,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Fat Boys,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Television,
Vladislav Delay,
Wasted Youth,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Dorothy Ashby,
Infiniti,
Brick,
June of 44,
Khruangbin,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Ten City,
E-Dancer,
Stereo Dub,
Crispy Ambulance,
The Monks,
Ituana,
Pierre Henry,
Visage,
Don Cherry,
Tres Demented,
Blancmange,
Prince Buster,
The Saints,
Main Source,
The Real Kids,
Y Pants,
Cecil Taylor,
The Mojo Men,
The Toasters,
Bobby Hutcherson,
The Selecter,
Schoolly D,
Toni Rubio,
Patti Smith,
The New Christs,
Sandy B,
The Misunderstood,
Underground Resistance,
Carl Craig,
A Certain Ratio,
The Smiths,
Sonic Youth,
Curtis Mayfield,
The Walker Brothers,
Can,
Radiopuhelimet,
The Birthday Party,
Metal Thangz,
The Beau Brummels,
The Raincoats, The Raincoats, The Raincoats, The Raincoats.
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.