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 Malawi and from Philadelphia.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1967 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Edmonton 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 Buzzcocks practice in a loft in Bolton.
I was working on the guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Residents to the jazz 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 The Men They Couldn't Hang. All the underground hits.
All Soft Machine tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every A Certain Ratio record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno 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 an arpeggiator and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The United States of America record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Wally Richardson,
The Alarm Clocks,
the Bar-Kays,
Grauzone,
Lucky Dragons,
Eric Copeland,
Lower 48,
The Offenders,
T. Rex,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
The Divine Comedy,
The Moody Blues,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
OOIOO,
The Flesh Eaters,
Sugar Minott,
Howard Jones,
The Cowsills,
Angry Samoans,
Bobby Byrd,
Quando Quango,
The Neon Judgement,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Wasted Youth,
Janne Schatter,
Bizarre Inc.,
Al Stewart,
Zero Boys,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Duran Duran,
Aswad,
E-Dancer,
Isaac Hayes,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Sällskapet,
Kevin Saunderson,
Kas Product,
Porter Ricks,
The Star Department,
Big Daddy Kane,
Glambeats Corp.,
Erykah Badu,
Ultra Naté,
Fat Boys,
the Fania All-Stars,
Jeff Mills,
John Holt,
Franke,
Groovy Waters,
DJ Sneak,
Jawbox,
Mantronix,
The Pretty Things,
Mary Jane Girls,
Bad Manners,
The Last Poets,
Minutemen, Minutemen, Minutemen, Minutemen.
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.