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 Malta and from Houston.
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 1964 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 1975 at the first Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 Byron Stingily to the grime 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 X-Ray Spex. All the underground hits.
All Sixth Finger tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bauhaus 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 harpsichord and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Buzzcocks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Mantronix,
Glambeats Corp.,
Angry Samoans,
Stereo Dub,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Gabor Szabo,
Glenn Branca,
Maleditus Sound,
Masters at Work,
Brick,
Carl Craig,
Minutemen,
Marshall Jefferson,
Au Pairs,
Be Bop Deluxe,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
The Slits,
Scientists,
Alphaville,
The Divine Comedy,
DNA,
The Saints,
Radio Birdman,
Gil Scott Heron,
The Stooges,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Youth Brigade,
The Music Machine,
Sly & The Family Stone,
The Residents,
Monks,
Lungfish,
The Beau Brummels,
The New Christs,
The Cure,
Gong,
Fugazi,
Andrew Hill,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Spoonie Gee,
Henry Cow,
Chris & Cosey,
Joey Negro,
Gang Starr,
Joe Finger,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Roxette,
Fifty Foot Hose,
The Searchers,
DJ Style,
Minor Threat,
The Five Americans,
Gregory Isaacs,
The Monks,
Yusef Lateef,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Surgeon,
Curtis Mayfield,
Gastr Del Sol,
Frankie Knuckles, Frankie Knuckles, Frankie Knuckles, Frankie Knuckles.
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.