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 San Marino and from Milan.
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 1965 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Seoul and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow 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 1971 at the first Big Star practice in a loft in Memphis.
I was working on the oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Throbbing Gristle to the jazz 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 Sixth Finger. All the underground hits.
All Black Sheep tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Joyce Sims 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Jawbox record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Index,
Marc Almond,
Harry Pussy,
The Grass Roots,
Robert Hood,
The Martian,
The Alarm Clocks,
Dead Boys,
Maurizio,
48th St. Collective,
Black Pus,
Loose Ends,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Sonic Youth,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Lou Christie,
Marmalade,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Harpers Bizarre,
Lower 48,
Skarface,
Eve St. Jones,
Y Pants,
Cecil Taylor,
the Swans,
Iggy Pop,
Dave Gahan,
Ponytail,
Thompson Twins,
Henry Cow,
Section 25,
The Black Dice,
Matthew Bourne,
DJ Style,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Gerry Rafferty,
Warsaw,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Eric B and Rakim,
Chris & Cosey,
Inner City,
Gang Starr,
Thee Headcoats,
Von Mondo,
Gang of Four,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Black Bananas,
Public Image Ltd.,
Donald Byrd,
Tom Boy,
Barry Ungar,
The Move,
Heaven 17,
Magazine,
The Doobie Brothers,
ABBA,
Infiniti,
John Foxx,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Jacques Brel,
Ohio Players, Ohio Players, Ohio Players, Ohio Players.
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.