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 Algeria and from Accra.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Feelies show in Haledon.
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 1963 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Milan and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 Wire practice in a loft in Watford.
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 Davy DMX to the funk 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 Pussy Galore. All the underground hits.
All The Human League tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every T.S.O.L. 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an organ and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sex Pistols record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a 808.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Porter Ricks,
Lou Reed,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Bob Dylan,
Charles Mingus,
Jandek,
The J.B.'s,
Junior Murvin,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Tres Demented,
The Invisible,
Jerry Gold Smith,
The Doobie Brothers,
The Slits,
the Germs,
The Cure,
Popol Vuh,
T. Rex,
Scion,
The Skatalites,
Steve Hackett,
Roxy Music,
Harry Pussy,
Rapeman,
Ohio Players,
Dead Boys,
Ossler,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
These Immortal Souls,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
Sam Rivers,
Brand Nubian,
DNA,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Subhumans,
Drive Like Jehu,
The Moleskins,
Henry Cow,
Peter and Kerry,
Liliput,
Lungfish,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Scrapy,
Siglo XX,
Lower 48,
Crime,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Scott Walker,
A Certain Ratio,
Camberwell Now,
Robert Hood,
Wings,
E-Dancer,
The Fall,
Radiopuhelimet,
Bobby Womack,
Rites of Spring,
Chris & Cosey,
Frankie Knuckles,
Lee Hazlewood,
Gang Green,
the Fania All-Stars, the Fania All-Stars, the Fania All-Stars, the Fania All-Stars.
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.