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 San Marino and from Stockholm.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Milan and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 1977 at the first Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo to the punk kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Tres Demented. All the underground hits.
All The Royal Family And The Poor tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Roxy Music record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 güiro and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Joyce Sims record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Babytalk,
the Association,
UT,
Be Bop Deluxe,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Pere Ubu,
Eve St. Jones,
Peter and Kerry,
The J.B.'s,
Bush Tetras,
Outsiders,
Lou Christie,
Inner City,
The Beau Brummels,
The Angels of Light,
Drive Like Jehu,
Moss Icon,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
The Standells,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Excepter,
Dennis Brown,
Saccharine Trust,
Pantaleimon,
Joy Division,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Amazonics,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Scientists,
Bobby Hutcherson,
The Dirtbombs,
John Coltrane,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Boz Scaggs,
OOIOO,
Suburban Knight,
Amon Düül,
The Barracudas,
Minny Pops,
The Dead C,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Pagans,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Kerrie Biddell,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
The Names,
KRS-One,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Los Fastidios,
Tom Boy,
The Seeds,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Lucky Dragons,
Rhythm & Sound,
Au Pairs,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Boogie Down Productions,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Hot Snakes, Hot Snakes, Hot Snakes, Hot Snakes.
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.