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 Papua New Guinea and from Columbus.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1967 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Halifax and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Anthony Braxton to the grime kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Second Layer. All the underground hits.
All The Fire Engines tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Teenage Jesus and the Jerks record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 guitar and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Symarip record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Tubeway Army,
Can,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Harmonia,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Unwound,
Sister Nancy,
Gregory Isaacs,
Slave,
Morten Harket,
Jawbox,
Black Flag,
Fluxion,
Radio Birdman,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Yellowson,
Amon Düül,
The Standells,
Absolute Body Control,
Television,
Niagra,
The Divine Comedy,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Derrick May,
Leonard Cohen,
Severed Heads,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Agitation Free,
Visage,
Terry Callier,
Bobby Hutcherson,
F. McDonald,
Intrusion,
Davy DMX,
Drexciya,
Isaac Hayes,
Sex Pistols,
The Angels of Light,
MDC,
Kool Moe Dee,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Second Layer,
Funkadelic,
Slick Rick,
Charles Mingus,
The Slackers,
Altered Images,
E-Dancer,
The Gun Club,
LL Cool J,
Erykah Badu,
The Offenders,
Shoche,
Crispian St. Peters,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Skarface,
The Detroit Cobras,
The Cowsills,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Patti Smith,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Alphaville,
Joe Smooth, Joe Smooth, Joe Smooth, Joe Smooth.
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.