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 Latvia and from Paris.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide show in New York.
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 1962 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 Captain Beefheart 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 American Breed 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 Arthur Verocai. All the underground hits.
All Eric Dolphy tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Brand Nubian record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno 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 arpeggiator and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a World's Most record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Los Fastidios,
Cheater Slicks,
Radio Birdman,
Bill Near,
Bobby Hutcherson,
ABBA,
Hoover,
Crispy Ambulance,
The Cure,
Monolake,
The Dirtbombs,
Derrick Morgan,
Bauhaus,
Fad Gadget,
The Mojo Men,
X-101,
Nirvana,
Pet Shop Boys,
The Fall,
The Busters,
Black Moon,
Howard Jones,
Theoretical Girls,
Sun Ra,
Glenn Branca,
The Buckinghams,
The Doobie Brothers,
The Fugs,
The Star Department,
Scan 7,
Index,
Audionom,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Rekid,
Au Pairs,
Skaos,
Neu!,
Tropical Tobacco,
cv313,
Gang Starr,
Blossom Toes,
Liliput,
The Flesh Eaters,
Mary Jane Girls,
Spoonie Gee,
Pussy Galore,
Terrestrial Tones,
DJ Style,
Royal Trux,
the Normal,
Intrusion,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
U.S. Maple,
Crispian St. Peters,
Sonny Sharrock,
Swans,
T. Rex,
Max Romeo,
Todd Rundgren,
Television,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
John Cale, John Cale, John Cale, John Cale.
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.