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 Serbia and from Paris.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1962 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Spokane.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mumbai 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 1976 at the first Buzzcocks practice in a loft in Bolton.
I was working on the clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Deadbeat to the dance kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Sound Behaviour. All the underground hits.
All Siouxsie and the Banshees tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Dead Boys record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Television record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Gil Scott Heron,
The Red Krayola,
Isaac Hayes,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Make Up,
Basic Channel,
Ponytail,
The J.B.'s,
Al Stewart,
Visage,
Harry Pussy,
Absolute Body Control,
The Doors,
Q65,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Kas Product,
Parry Music,
Tears for Fears,
Janne Schatter,
The Litter,
Marcia Griffiths,
Accadde A,
Suicide,
Lower 48,
Porter Ricks,
Bauhaus,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Essential Logic,
Lalann,
Ossler,
The Fortunes,
Deadbeat,
Slave,
Kerrie Biddell,
MC5,
Throbbing Gristle,
Pierre Henry,
Procol Harum,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Man Parrish,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Josef K,
X-101,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Minor Threat,
Harmonia,
Nico,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Ultra Naté,
Brass Construction,
Radio Birdman,
The Durutti Column,
The Gories,
The Sound,
Cal Tjader,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Dave Gahan,
Hot Snakes,
Minny Pops,
Iggy Pop, Iggy Pop, Iggy Pop, Iggy Pop.
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.