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 Chile and from Seoul.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide show in New York.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Winnipeg.
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 1976 at the first Buzzcocks practice in a loft in Bolton.
I was working on the arpeggiator 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 Cluster to the electroclash kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Lou Reed & Metallica. All the underground hits.
All The Cowsills tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Wake record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Justin Hinds & The Dominoes record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Camouflage,
Thompson Twins,
Mandrill,
Main Source,
Mission of Burma,
Minny Pops,
Drexciya,
Livin' Joy,
The Smoke,
Marmalade,
Minor Threat,
Newcleus,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Crooked Eye,
Ronnie Foster,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Smog,
The Saints,
A Certain Ratio,
Terry Callier,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Henry Cow,
Monks,
Half Japanese,
The Fire Engines,
Josef K,
Sexual Harrassment,
Black Pus,
Toni Rubio,
Avey Tare,
Prince Buster,
The New Christs,
John Foxx,
The Monochrome Set,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Zapp,
Wings,
Royal Trux,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Underground Resistance,
Robert Görl,
Derrick Morgan,
Nico,
It's A Beautiful Day,
The Pop Group,
Harry Pussy,
Ituana,
One Last Wish,
Scion,
Scratch Acid,
The Motions,
Dave Gahan,
Black Flag,
Pole,
Jesper Dahlback,
Nirvana,
Nation of Ulysses,
Siglo XX,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Johnny Osbourne,
Aural Exciters,
48th St. Collective,
Faust, Faust, Faust, Faust.
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.