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 Equatorial Guinea and from Woodstock.
But I was there.
I was there in 1978.
I was there at the first Visage 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 1962 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Houston and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 1967 at the first Rodriguez practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 The Moleskins to the rap 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 Flash Fearless. All the underground hits.
All F. McDonald tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Susan Cadogan record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Manfred Mann's Earth Band record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Camberwell Now,
Bad Manners,
Joy Division,
the Swans,
Rotary Connection,
T. Rex,
Angry Samoans,
Godley & Creme,
Boz Scaggs,
10cc,
The Names,
John Holt,
Babytalk,
Public Image Ltd.,
Pharoah Sanders,
L. Decosne,
MC5,
Fad Gadget,
The Selecter,
Buzzcocks,
The American Breed,
Camouflage,
Kayak,
Model 500,
Joensuu 1685,
Ultravox,
B.T. Express,
Sight & Sound,
The Skatalites,
Delta 5,
The Birthday Party,
the Human League,
Lightning Bolt,
The Doobie Brothers,
Amazonics,
Boogie Down Productions,
The Black Dice,
Aloha Tigers,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Graham Central Station,
Rapeman,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Henry Cow,
The Leaves,
Crime,
Brick,
Dead Boys,
Jimmy McGriff,
Excepter,
Magazine,
Terry Callier,
Darondo,
Basic Channel,
the Association,
Aural Exciters,
Talk Talk,
Scrapy,
Sexual Harrassment,
The Grass Roots,
Slick Rick,
Hashim,
The Standells,
Bob Dylan, Bob Dylan, Bob Dylan, Bob Dylan.
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.