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 Brazil and from Manchester.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1965 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Shanghai.
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 1976 at the first Buzzcocks practice in a loft in Bolton.
I was working on the arpeggiator 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 Boredoms to the jazz 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 Jeru the Damaja. All the underground hits.
All The Searchers tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Howard Jones record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 a clarinet and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pussy Galore record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Radiopuhelimet,
Newcleus,
Colin Newman,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Crispian St. Peters,
Black Pus,
Isaac Hayes,
Vainqueur,
Black Flag,
Sun City Girls,
Bobby Hutcherson,
CMW,
Spandau Ballet,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Can,
The Cramps,
Sonny Sharrock,
Quantec,
Thee Headcoats,
Steve Hackett,
Symarip,
Ultravox,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Pierre Henry,
The J.B.'s,
Cybotron,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Accadde A,
Tomorrow,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
The Sound,
Pere Ubu,
DNA,
The Cowsills,
Blake Baxter,
Rites of Spring,
Trumans Water,
Flipper,
The Divine Comedy,
Aswad,
Second Layer,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Buzzcocks,
Byron Stingily,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Lebanon Hanover,
Mary Jane Girls,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Erykah Badu,
The Human League,
Crime,
Index,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Morten Harket,
Brand Nubian,
Sällskapet,
Slick Rick,
Soft Cell,
Au Pairs,
Niagra,
Bang On A Can,
The Blues Magoos, The Blues Magoos, The Blues Magoos, The Blues Magoos.
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.