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 Malawi and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1968 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tokyo 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 Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the spring reverb 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 Jeru the Damaja to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Banda Bassotti. All the underground hits.
All Flipper tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Guru Guru record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a T.S.O.L. record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Oneida,
Nik Kershaw,
Judy Mowatt,
Roxy Music,
The Doobie Brothers,
Laurel Aitken,
Kaleidoscope,
Talk Talk,
Von Mondo,
Kenny Larkin,
Masters at Work,
Pole,
Smog,
Mark Hollis,
Frankie Knuckles,
New York Dolls,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Joey Negro,
Dead Boys,
The Vogues,
Excepter,
Kas Product,
Crime,
Gichy Dan,
Alton Ellis,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
The Human League,
Suicide,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Scratch Acid,
Piero Umiliani,
Newcleus,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Albert Ayler,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Crash Course in Science,
Brass Construction,
Dorothy Ashby,
Bad Manners,
The Trojans,
Marc Almond,
Juan Atkins,
Lalo Schifrin,
Goldenarms,
Wolf Eyes,
Aswad,
The Cramps,
Ice-T,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Cluster,
Skriet,
Faust,
Accadde A,
MC5,
The New Christs,
The Durutti Column,
Barrington Levy,
Tropical Tobacco,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Donny Hathaway,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
The Move,
Barry Ungar, Barry Ungar, Barry Ungar, Barry Ungar.
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.