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 Montenegro and from Manchester.
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 1962 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tokyo and Stockholm.
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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the clarinet 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 Electric Prunes to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Sister Nancy. All the underground hits.
All Youth Brigade tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Crooked Eye record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Joy Division record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Flesh Eaters,
Stereo Dub,
Alison Limerick,
Nils Olav,
Marshall Jefferson,
Mr. Review,
Cheater Slicks,
Clear Light,
Darondo,
John Cale,
Maleditus Sound,
Carl Craig,
The Music Machine,
Deepchord,
Masters at Work,
Bobby Sherman,
Gang Green,
Laurel Aitken,
The Star Department,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
James White and The Blacks,
The Doobie Brothers,
Crispian St. Peters,
The Red Krayola,
The New Christs,
The Fall,
A Certain Ratio,
the Bar-Kays,
The J.B.'s,
Depeche Mode,
Suicide,
Schoolly D,
Black Sheep,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
the Soft Cell,
The Fuzztones,
The Smiths,
Archie Shepp,
Bob Dylan,
AZ,
The Divine Comedy,
The United States of America,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Outsiders,
Bauhaus,
Alice Coltrane,
Animal Collective,
ABBA,
DJ Style,
Fear,
Harry Pussy,
The Raincoats,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Nick Fraelich,
Connie Case,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Scion,
Silicon Teens,
Ten City,
The Techniques,
The Busters,
Nico,
The Wake, The Wake, The Wake, The Wake.
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.