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 Swaziland and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South 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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Traffic Nightmare to the rock 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 the Slits. All the underground hits.
All Brass Construction tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Mary Jane Girls 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gil Scott Heron record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Mr. Review,
Mars,
The Beau Brummels,
Motorama,
F. McDonald,
Jeff Lynne,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Mandrill,
Sun City Girls,
Young Marble Giants,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Freddie Wadling,
Gregory Isaacs,
Aswad,
Soulsonic Force,
Banda Bassotti,
Newcleus,
Saccharine Trust,
Half Japanese,
Fugazi,
Curtis Mayfield,
PIL,
Prince Buster,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Big Daddy Kane,
Silicon Teens,
D'Angelo,
The Real Kids,
Fat Boys,
Nik Kershaw,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Scrapy,
Eve St. Jones,
The Residents,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Fela Kuti,
The Fugs,
Crispian St. Peters,
Nico,
The Neon Judgement,
The Victims,
Fluxion,
Pagans,
Judy Mowatt,
Kaleidoscope,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Sparks,
B.T. Express,
Popol Vuh,
Juan Atkins,
Sun Ra,
The Litter,
The Martian,
Rod Modell,
Connie Case,
Electric Prunes,
Rites of Spring,
Fear,
Maurizio,
Minutemen,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols.
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.