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 Somalia and from Manila.
But I was there.
I was there in 1965.
I was there at the first Beefheart show in Lancaster.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Calgary.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 1984 at the first Arcadia practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the synthesizer 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 Gang Green to the dance kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 F. McDonald. All the underground hits.
All The Gladiators tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sexual Harrassment 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Suicide record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Funky Four + One,
FM Einheit,
Visage,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Janne Schatter,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Boredoms,
Minor Threat,
Roxette,
The Slackers,
Mission of Burma,
Oneida,
the Association,
Cheater Slicks,
Skriet,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Scan 7,
Man Eating Sloth,
Arthur Verocai,
Hoover,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Mo-Dettes,
Dead Boys,
The Divine Comedy,
The Music Machine,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
In Retrospect,
John Lydon,
Technova,
The Offenders,
Sun Ra,
Severed Heads,
Tres Demented,
Interpol,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Spoonie Gee,
Lebanon Hanover,
The Five Americans,
Joey Negro,
Howard Jones,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Panda Bear,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
John Cale,
The Blackbyrds,
Pantaleimon,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Barclay James Harvest,
Radiohead,
Laurel Aitken,
Talk Talk,
Gang of Four,
The Motions,
Sonic Youth,
Mark Hollis,
Tommy Roe,
Mandrill,
The Flesh Eaters,
Jerry Gold Smith,
New York Dolls,
Eddi Front,
Harpers Bizarre, Harpers Bizarre, Harpers Bizarre, Harpers Bizarre.
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.