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 Saudi Arabia and from New York.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in New York and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the snare 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 The Slackers to the electroclash kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Eric B and Rakim. All the underground hits.
All Gil Scott Heron tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Ultra Naté 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Talk Talk record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Nico,
Reuben Wilson,
Procol Harum,
Lindisfarne,
Kevin Saunderson,
Anakelly,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Johnny Clarke,
Malaria!,
The Techniques,
The Selecter,
Bobby Byrd,
Pantytec,
Robert Wyatt,
Marc Almond,
The Saints,
Vainqueur,
The Smiths,
Silicon Teens,
the Bar-Kays,
D'Angelo,
Bizarre Inc.,
Scrapy,
The Happenings,
Echospace,
The Durutti Column,
Cybotron,
The Names,
Reagan Youth,
the Normal,
Los Fastidios,
Sunsets and Hearts,
a-ha,
The Remains,
Fugazi,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Ossler,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Black Moon,
Organ,
Funkadelic,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Piero Umiliani,
Joe Smooth,
Bush Tetras,
The Move,
The Blues Magoos,
The Gladiators,
Underground Resistance,
Anthony Braxton,
The Misunderstood,
Lower 48,
Kenny Larkin,
Lebanon Hanover,
Dark Day,
Scratch Acid,
Thee Headcoats,
Slick Rick,
Faraquet,
Joy Division,
The Standells,
Public Enemy,
Unwound, Unwound, Unwound, Unwound.
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.