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 Spain and from Taipei.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 1968 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Hong Kong 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 1978 at the first Visage practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Patti Smith to the punk kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Rites of Spring. All the underground hits.
All The Red Krayola tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Grey Daturas record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Black Pus record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Can,
Marshall Jefferson,
Skaos,
Arab on Radar,
Marcia Griffiths,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
the Slits,
Bang On A Can,
Tres Demented,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Black Moon,
Gabor Szabo,
China Crisis,
Cameo,
Bluetip,
Wasted Youth,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Arthur Verocai,
Chrome,
Pole,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Ice-T,
Ken Boothe,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Ultra Naté,
The J.B.'s,
Outsiders,
Tim Buckley,
Harpers Bizarre,
Skriet,
Gil Scott Heron,
The Raincoats,
Faraquet,
The Cure,
Scrapy,
Hasil Adkins,
Slave,
The Move,
The Blackbyrds,
Yellowson,
Donny Hathaway,
The Dirtbombs,
Todd Rundgren,
Mo-Dettes,
Patti Smith,
Tubeway Army,
DJ Style,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
X-101,
Qualms,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Grey Daturas,
Mandrill,
Alison Limerick,
Kevin Saunderson,
Crime,
Johnny Osbourne,
Das Ding,
Tommy Roe,
Audionom,
Alton Ellis,
The Alarm Clocks, The Alarm Clocks, The Alarm Clocks, The Alarm Clocks.
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.