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 United Kingdom and from Philadelphia.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 Delhi and Taipei.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow 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 1983 at the first Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the guitar 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 Oppenheimer Analysis to the dance kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Harpers Bizarre. All the underground hits.
All Sad Lovers and Giants tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Fall 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 a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Harry Pussy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Gun Club,
Bronski Beat,
Severed Heads,
Lakeside,
Chrome,
Bad Manners,
Suburban Knight,
Depeche Mode,
Cabaret Voltaire,
New York Dolls,
Dave Gahan,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Marc Almond,
The Golliwogs,
Prince Buster,
Talk Talk,
The Happenings,
Matthew Bourne,
Nas,
Little Man,
Ultimate Spinach,
Donald Byrd,
The Grass Roots,
The Victims,
cv313,
Joensuu 1685,
Khruangbin,
Make Up,
The Divine Comedy,
The Kinks,
Theoretical Girls,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Shoche,
DJ Sneak,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
The Last Poets,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Susan Cadogan,
Cluster,
The Cowsills,
Mo-Dettes,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Fugazi,
Howard Jones,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Arthur Verocai,
The Skatalites,
MC5,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Franke,
Fear,
Throbbing Gristle,
Public Image Ltd.,
Lebanon Hanover,
The Fortunes,
MDC,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Fort Wilson Riot,
X-102, X-102, X-102, X-102.
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.