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 Argentina and from Accra.
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 1960 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Toronto.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 Lewis practice in a loft in Vancouver.
I was working on the mellotron 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 The Smoke to the rock 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 Half Japanese. All the underground hits.
All David Bowie tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Howard Jones record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Donny Hathaway record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Durutti Column,
Pharoah Sanders,
Deepchord,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Accadde A,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Gichy Dan,
The Tremeloes,
Henry Cow,
Pierre Henry,
Motorama,
The Saints,
This Heat,
John Lydon,
K-Klass,
Harry Pussy,
Unrelated Segments,
Metal Thangz,
The Evens,
Siglo XX,
Procol Harum,
Arab on Radar,
Shoche,
The Angels of Light,
The Golliwogs,
Circle Jerks,
the Human League,
Marc Almond,
Slave,
Ten City,
Chris Corsano,
Nico,
8 Eyed Spy,
Alton Ellis,
Lalann,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Minny Pops,
Black Sheep,
Ultravox,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Donald Byrd,
Swans,
Vladislav Delay,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Slick Rick,
Mr. Review,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Excepter,
Bill Near,
Tim Buckley,
Tommy Roe,
Althea and Donna,
Patti Smith,
Cheater Slicks,
Aswad,
Subhumans,
Gang Green,
The Neon Judgement,
Kerrie Biddell,
Tom Boy,
Scion,
Camouflage, Camouflage, Camouflage, Camouflage.
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.