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 Sri Lanka and from Woodstock.
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 1966 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mexico City 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 synthesizer 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 Bobbi Humphrey to the disco 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 Joe Finger. All the underground hits.
All Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Visage record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge 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 guitar and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mad Mike record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Beasts of Bourbon,
the Human League,
The Monks,
The Wake,
Bush Tetras,
Anakelly,
Thompson Twins,
Maurizio,
The Zeros,
The Gladiators,
the Swans,
Marcia Griffiths,
Tom Boy,
Cybotron,
Bluetip,
Black Pus,
The Detroit Cobras,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Girls At Our Best!,
Franke,
Kenny Larkin,
The J.B.'s,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
The Shadows of Knight,
Stereo Dub,
Pagans,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
The Alarm Clocks,
Nas,
June Days,
Big Daddy Kane,
Popol Vuh,
Vladislav Delay,
Mission of Burma,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Black Sheep,
Bobby Womack,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Ossler,
The Searchers,
Sunsets and Hearts,
48th St. Collective,
Interpol,
Sight & Sound,
Crash Course in Science,
Excepter,
Bill Wells,
Aswad,
Bootsy Collins,
Underground Resistance,
Babytalk,
Skaos,
Johnny Osbourne,
The Doors,
Groovy Waters,
Skarface,
L. Decosne,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Mr. Review,
Faraquet,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Ken Boothe,
Rakim, Rakim, Rakim, Rakim.
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.