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 Lithuania and from Beijing.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television 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 1969 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mexico City 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 1977 at the first Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the clarinet 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 Spandau Ballet to the disco 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 John Lydon. All the underground hits.
All James White and The Blacks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every H. Thieme record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Stooges record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Iggy Pop,
The Stooges,
Animal Collective,
Brothers Johnson,
the Slits,
B.T. Express,
Cheater Slicks,
Swell Maps,
Rites of Spring,
Flipper,
Crispy Ambulance,
The Residents,
New Age Steppers,
UT,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
T. Rex,
The Smiths,
Bill Wells,
Talk Talk,
Nick Fraelich,
Alison Limerick,
Schoolly D,
Vladislav Delay,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Royal Trux,
Quadrant,
Gong,
Mary Jane Girls,
Pere Ubu,
Barry Ungar,
The Offenders,
Sandy B,
Ronnie Foster,
David Axelrod,
Blake Baxter,
Bauhaus,
The Misunderstood,
Clear Light,
Surgeon,
The Remains,
Marshall Jefferson,
Byron Stingily,
Soul Sonic Force,
Brick,
The Gories,
Marmalade,
Arthur Verocai,
The Trojans,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
The Last Poets,
Audionom,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Anthony Braxton,
Basic Channel,
Absolute Body Control,
Robert Görl,
Slave,
Barrington Levy,
Wings,
Tim Buckley,
The Cramps,
Man Parrish, Man Parrish, Man Parrish, Man Parrish.
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.