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 Italy and from Lille.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1961 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Halifax and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Gang Gang Dance to the dance kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Symarip. All the underground hits.
All Robert Hood tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a B.T. Express record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Symarip,
Camouflage,
Sällskapet,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
The Music Machine,
Sam Rivers,
Slick Rick,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Underground Resistance,
The Doobie Brothers,
Sarah Menescal,
Can,
The Angels of Light,
Lou Christie,
The Gun Club,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Brand Nubian,
Babytalk,
The Beau Brummels,
The Leaves,
The Motions,
Reagan Youth,
The Fugs,
Altered Images,
F. McDonald,
Mark Hollis,
KRS-One,
Kayak,
Panda Bear,
Zero Boys,
Flamin' Groovies,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Sonny Sharrock,
Judy Mowatt,
Glenn Branca,
Lungfish,
Erykah Badu,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
The Fire Engines,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Silicon Teens,
Tim Buckley,
Das Ding,
Alison Limerick,
Gerry Rafferty,
U.S. Maple,
Outsiders,
Charles Mingus,
Echospace,
Television,
The Fall,
Davy DMX,
Intrusion,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Ultra Naté,
Vladislav Delay,
Anthony Braxton,
Unrelated Segments,
Rod Modell,
The Trojans,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Livin' Joy,
Harpers Bizarre, Harpers Bizarre, Harpers Bizarre, Harpers Bizarre.
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.