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 Lesotho and from Cairo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1978.
I was there at the first Visage show in London.
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 1964 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tokyo and Manila.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Crash Course in Science to the electroclash 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 10cc. All the underground hits.
All Das Ding tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Soft Machine record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator 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 Young Rascals,
Mars,
The Electric Prunes,
The Martian,
June of 44,
Black Flag,
Pere Ubu,
Khruangbin,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Kerrie Biddell,
Franke,
Swell Maps,
Gastr Del Sol,
Minor Threat,
Loose Ends,
Youth Brigade,
Fat Boys,
The Saints,
Rotary Connection,
Derrick May,
Crime,
Tears for Fears,
the Association,
Soft Machine,
The American Breed,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Todd Rundgren,
the Fania All-Stars,
Leonard Cohen,
Ludus,
Ronan,
Sällskapet,
Toni Rubio,
Q65,
The Sonics,
Eddi Front,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
The Invisible,
June Days,
Throbbing Gristle,
Faraquet,
Boredoms,
Dead Boys,
Stereo Dub,
Kaleidoscope,
48th St. Collective,
Glambeats Corp.,
The Seeds,
B.T. Express,
Skriet,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Maurizio,
The Cure,
Sparks,
Con Funk Shun,
The Neon Judgement,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
New York Dolls,
Thee Headcoats,
Stockholm Monsters,
Roger Hodgson,
Rosa Yemen,
Jawbox,
Bush Tetras,
T.S.O.L., T.S.O.L., T.S.O.L., T.S.O.L..
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.