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 France and from Mumbai.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 Tehran and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lille 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 oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Henry Cow to the grime 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 Major Organ And The Adding Machine. All the underground hits.
All The Barracudas tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Standells record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a the Human League record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Crispian St. Peters,
T.S.O.L.,
Yellowson,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Terrestrial Tones,
Chrome,
Lower 48,
The Golliwogs,
Pet Shop Boys,
Boredoms,
Harpers Bizarre,
Eric Copeland,
The Cowsills,
Swans,
Stockholm Monsters,
Dawn Penn,
Gabor Szabo,
Gregory Isaacs,
Jerry Gold Smith,
The Pretty Things,
David Bowie,
Tropical Tobacco,
Robert Hood,
Lou Christie,
Vainqueur,
The Slackers,
David Axelrod,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Fat Boys,
Scientists,
the Swans,
Ten City,
In Retrospect,
Kenny Larkin,
Yusef Lateef,
Mission of Burma,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Slave,
The Mighty Diamonds,
R.M.O.,
Max Romeo,
Masters at Work,
Pulsallama,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Bill Wells,
Depeche Mode,
Bobby Womack,
The Gladiators,
The Alarm Clocks,
Average White Band,
The Young Rascals,
Neu!,
Black Flag,
Royal Trux,
A Certain Ratio,
Ultra Naté,
Bootsy Collins,
The Dirtbombs,
Lou Reed,
DJ Style,
Ituana,
Judy Mowatt, Judy Mowatt, Judy Mowatt, Judy Mowatt.
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.