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 Cuba and from Winnipeg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle 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 1969 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Milan and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Suburban Knight to the punk kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Lightning Bolt. All the underground hits.
All The Gap Band tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Crash Course in Science record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 synthesizer and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Slackers record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Blake Baxter,
New Order,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Ronan,
Gregory Isaacs,
Arcadia,
Infiniti,
Warren Ellis,
Saccharine Trust,
Stereo Dub,
Q65,
Eric Copeland,
X-Ray Spex,
David Axelrod,
Gang Gang Dance,
Suicide,
Morten Harket,
A Certain Ratio,
Mark Hollis,
Agitation Free,
Interpol,
Adolescents,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Matthew Bourne,
Das Ding,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
The Cowsills,
Yellowson,
The Last Poets,
R.M.O.,
Bob Dylan,
Fatback Band,
Sixth Finger,
Lou Reed,
Kaleidoscope,
Jeff Lynne,
Zapp,
The Smiths,
Anakelly,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Franke,
Derrick May,
Smog,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Pagans,
Graham Central Station,
The Red Krayola,
Gastr Del Sol,
Warsaw,
The Move,
Donny Hathaway,
Popol Vuh,
Nation of Ulysses,
Marshall Jefferson,
Ossler,
Masters at Work,
H. Thieme,
Soul II Soul,
Grandmaster Flash,
Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols.
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.