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 Armenia and from Copenhagen.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide 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 1963 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Salvador 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 chamberlin 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 Richard Hell and the Voidoids to the dance kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Outsiders. All the underground hits.
All Gang Green tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Ultramagnetic MC's record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 snare and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Nils Olav record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Trumans Water,
Bobby Womack,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Arab on Radar,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Erasure,
Slick Rick,
the Fania All-Stars,
The Modern Lovers,
John Coltrane,
The Martian,
Soft Cell,
Newcleus,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Pantaleimon,
Symarip,
Bobby Sherman,
The Residents,
Hasil Adkins,
The Smiths,
Big Daddy Kane,
The Sound,
Freddie Wadling,
Angry Samoans,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Joensuu 1685,
The Stooges,
Sugar Minott,
The Doobie Brothers,
Sun Ra,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Pulsallama,
Ultravox,
Swans,
Morten Harket,
DNA,
Sister Nancy,
Cluster,
Fear,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Laurel Aitken,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Jacques Brel,
Boz Scaggs,
Y Pants,
Tres Demented,
Suburban Knight,
The Techniques,
Lee Hazlewood,
The Cowsills,
The Doors,
Connie Case,
World's Most,
Vladislav Delay,
Avey Tare,
Bang On A Can,
China Crisis,
New Order,
Hot Snakes,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
Television,
Can,
Slave, Slave, Slave, Slave.
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.