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 Austria and from Tokyo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle 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 1966 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Halifax and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Cairo 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 1978 at the first Visage practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the snare 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 Sex Pistols to the jazz 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 Lizzy Mercier Descloux. All the underground hits.
All Richard Hell and the Voidoids tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The American Breed 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 guitar and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Buzzcocks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Excepter,
Stetsasonic,
F. McDonald,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Nick Fraelich,
The Smiths,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Eric Copeland,
Barclay James Harvest,
Ronnie Foster,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Lee Hazlewood,
Delta 5,
Deepchord,
Warsaw,
the Germs,
Marmalade,
Bad Manners,
Nik Kershaw,
Joey Negro,
Ralphi Rosario,
Cecil Taylor,
Ultravox,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Bang On A Can,
Panda Bear,
The J.B.'s,
Underground Resistance,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Visionaries,LMNO, T- Love & Iriscience,
Buzzcocks,
Boogie Down Productions,
Model 500,
Scan 7,
The United States of America,
Cymande,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Sex Pistols,
Graham Central Station,
This Heat,
Roxy Music,
Grauzone,
Barbara Tucker,
Pere Ubu,
Angry Samoans,
Yusef Lateef,
The Velvet Underground,
Joe Finger,
Absolute Body Control,
Robert Wyatt,
Saccharine Trust,
The Pretty Things,
Eurythmics,
Derrick Morgan,
The Cure,
Ituana,
Bobby Sherman,
Mantronix,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Lyres,
Moss Icon,
Flamin' Groovies,
Sexual Harrassment, Sexual Harrassment, Sexual Harrassment, Sexual Harrassment.
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.