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 Trinidad & Tobago and from Tehran.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television show in New York.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 Wire practice in a loft in Watford.
I was working on the sitar 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 Oblivians to the grunge 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 The American Breed. All the underground hits.
All Robert Hood tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Soul Sonic Force record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Ornette Coleman record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Icehouse,
Flash Fearless,
Magma,
Tears for Fears,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Aaron Thompson,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
The Blackbyrds,
Rekid,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
World's Most,
Accadde A,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
JFA,
Amon Düül II,
Connie Case,
Ultimate Spinach,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Bobby Byrd,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Theoretical Girls,
Grey Daturas,
Nas,
The Barracudas,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Eric Copeland,
Jerry's Kids,
The Count Five,
Franke,
Motorama,
Cheater Slicks,
Spandau Ballet,
The J.B.'s,
Pylon,
Junior Murvin,
Rakim,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Cybotron,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
The Index,
Kurtis Blow,
Susan Cadogan,
Main Source,
Maleditus Sound,
Metal Thangz,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
The Victims,
R.M.O.,
The Gap Band,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Donald Byrd,
Swans,
Pantytec,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Thee Headcoats,
Oneida,
The Monks,
Outsiders,
Das Ding,
Bob Dylan,
the Soft Cell, the Soft Cell, the Soft Cell, the Soft Cell.
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.