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 Kiribati and from Glasgow.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Beijing.
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 1983 at the first Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the sitar 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 Underground Resistance to the electroclash 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 The Saints. All the underground hits.
All Royal Trux tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Angels of Light 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Smiths record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Harry Pussy,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Skriet,
The Birthday Party,
Gang of Four,
Lou Reed,
The Happenings,
Lucky Dragons,
Nick Fraelich,
Malaria!,
The Index,
The Raincoats,
Drexciya,
Colin Newman,
Outsiders,
Boogie Down Productions,
Neu!,
JFA,
Marmalade,
Hasil Adkins,
Wally Richardson,
The Shadows of Knight,
The Moleskins,
Glambeats Corp.,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Masters at Work,
Scrapy,
The Tremeloes,
Gang Starr,
Pierre Henry,
Massinfluence,
Yazoo,
Barry Ungar,
John Cale,
Ohio Players,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Toni Rubio,
Niagra,
Wasted Youth,
Tom Boy,
Ludus,
The Blackbyrds,
The Gun Club,
This Heat,
Eve St. Jones,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Funky Four + One,
Joe Finger,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Make Up,
Donald Byrd,
Inner City,
Model 500,
Throbbing Gristle,
Joey Negro,
Chrome,
Talk Talk,
Underground Resistance,
Bobby Byrd,
Gichy Dan,
DJ Style,
Crispy Ambulance, Crispy Ambulance, Crispy Ambulance, Crispy Ambulance.
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.