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 Romania and from Bremen.
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 1966 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 1975 at the first Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 The Gladiators to the rap kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Spandau Ballet. All the underground hits.
All Kevin Saunderson tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Slits record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sonic Youth record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Rites of Spring,
Moss Icon,
These Immortal Souls,
The Evens,
Spoonie Gee,
Andrew Hill,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
8 Eyed Spy,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Wire,
Newcleus,
Zero Boys,
The Martian,
Kerrie Biddell,
Panda Bear,
Magazine,
The Pop Group,
Deadbeat,
Magma,
Make Up,
Symarip,
The Mojo Men,
The Music Machine,
Kool Moe Dee,
Charles Mingus,
Joy Division,
Bill Wells,
Theoretical Girls,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Pharoah Sanders,
Circle Jerks,
New Order,
The Blues Magoos,
Black Pus,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Pantytec,
The Velvet Underground,
Jacob Miller,
Howard Jones,
David Bowie,
The Moody Blues,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Royal Trux,
Pulsallama,
Stiv Bators,
Visage,
Gang of Four,
The Alarm Clocks,
Robert Wyatt,
The Slackers,
Mr. Review,
Yellowson,
Tom Boy,
The Invisible,
Dave Gahan,
Mars,
Isaac Hayes,
Massinfluence,
Gang Starr,
The Red Krayola,
Skriet,
Vainqueur, Vainqueur, Vainqueur, Vainqueur.
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.