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 Korea South and from Calgary.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Zapp show in Hamilton.
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 1961 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the sitar 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 The Peanut Butter Conspiracy to the jazz 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 Khruangbin. All the underground hits.
All Strawberry Alarm Clock tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Smoke 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Main Source record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Main Source,
Ralphi Rosario,
Stiv Bators,
Lou Reed,
CMW,
Index,
Japan,
FM Einheit,
Byron Stingily,
Oneida,
Tommy Roe,
KRS-One,
The Divine Comedy,
Howard Jones,
Max Romeo,
The Monks,
John Cale,
Michelle Simonal,
Jeff Lynne,
Colin Newman,
Wasted Youth,
cv313,
Lindisfarne,
Swell Maps,
Adolescents,
Pet Shop Boys,
Newcleus,
Rotary Connection,
Negative Approach,
The Pop Group,
Kayak,
Desert Stars,
Duran Duran,
Joe Finger,
The Slits,
The Fall,
Rekid,
The Dead C,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Qualms,
F. McDonald,
Wally Richardson,
The Gap Band,
Arcadia,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Minutemen,
Alton Ellis,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Yaz,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Crispian St. Peters,
Scrapy,
Black Flag,
the Soft Cell,
Rod Modell,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Boredoms, Boredoms, Boredoms, Boredoms.
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.