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 Indonesia and from Bremen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1978.
I was there at the first Visage show in 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 Stockholm and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Winnipeg 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Lee Hazlewood to the rap kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Country Teasers. All the underground hits.
All Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Nils Olav 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 clarinet and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Yellowson record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Model 500,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Amazonics,
The Zeros,
The Music Machine,
The Doors,
Letta Mbulu,
Wolf Eyes,
Con Funk Shun,
OOIOO,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Franke,
Babytalk,
Roxy Music,
Moby Grape,
Supertramp,
The Cowsills,
Alison Limerick,
Donny Hathaway,
Easy Going,
Moss Icon,
Laurel Aitken,
Bootsy Collins,
Inner City,
China Crisis,
Mars,
Malaria!,
Johnny Clarke,
The Buckinghams,
Brick,
Zapp,
Susan Cadogan,
the Normal,
The Cure,
New York Dolls,
Radiohead,
The Techniques,
Cecil Taylor,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Soft Cell,
Tim Buckley,
Gang Starr,
Piero Umiliani,
Nirvana,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Crispian St. Peters,
The Fire Engines,
Andrew Hill,
Tomorrow,
Little Man,
Cameo,
The Seeds,
Cluster,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Gerry Rafferty,
Spoonie Gee,
Marc Almond,
Stetsasonic,
Skriet, Skriet, Skriet, Skriet.
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.