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 Russia and from Salvador.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Bronski Beat show in Brixton.
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 1966 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bremen 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 1967 at the first Rodriguez practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the chamberlin 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 Magazine to the punk 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 Newcleus. All the underground hits.
All London Community Gospel Choir tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Average White Band 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a spring reverb 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 theremin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Suburban Knight,
Lalann,
Cybotron,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Gang Starr,
Pagans,
Todd Rundgren,
Royal Trux,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Tres Demented,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Brothers Johnson,
Lou Christie,
Bobby Sherman,
The Modern Lovers,
Agent Orange,
L. Decosne,
The Saints,
Mr. Review,
X-101,
Country Teasers,
Audionom,
T. Rex,
Excepter,
PIL,
Wire,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
Don Cherry,
Deakin,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Charles Mingus,
Guru Guru,
The Fortunes,
The Smiths,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Mantronix,
the Bar-Kays,
8 Eyed Spy,
B.T. Express,
Prince Buster,
Cabaret Voltaire,
U.S. Maple,
The Busters,
Amazonics,
Ash Ra Tempel,
the Fania All-Stars,
Scientists,
Warren Ellis,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Jimmy McGriff,
The Happenings,
Bauhaus,
Blancmange,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Mark Hollis,
The Wake,
The Fuzztones,
Camberwell Now,
James Chance & The Contortions,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Urselle, Urselle, Urselle, Urselle.
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.