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 Zimbabwe and from Shanghai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Art of Noise 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 1969 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Toasters 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 Jacob Miller. All the underground hits.
All Heavy D & The Boyz tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Moss Icon record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 harpsichord and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Television record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Blake Baxter,
John Lydon,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Fad Gadget,
the Swans,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
The Angels of Light,
F. McDonald,
The Birthday Party,
Severed Heads,
Sam Rivers,
Sister Nancy,
The Raincoats,
Delon & Dalcan,
Spandau Ballet,
Sandy B,
Kevin Saunderson,
ABC,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Youth Brigade,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Throbbing Gristle,
Monolake,
The Doobie Brothers,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Marcia Griffiths,
The Index,
Don Cherry,
The Gun Club,
Television Personalities,
H. Thieme,
Technova,
Inner City,
Jerry Gold Smith,
The Cure,
Bobbi Humphrey,
The Searchers,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Patti Smith,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Unwound,
AZ,
Deadbeat,
The Trojans,
Black Pus,
Girls At Our Best!,
The Golliwogs,
The Fall,
Wasted Youth,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Johnny Clarke,
Sun Ra,
Eli Mardock,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
The Fugs,
Curtis Mayfield,
X-Ray Spex,
Man Eating Sloth,
Nick Fraelich,
The Blackbyrds,
Erasure, Erasure, Erasure, Erasure.
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.