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 Solomon Islands and from Spokane.
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 1962 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Jakarta.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lyon 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 guitar 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 The Moody Blues to the dance kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Lalann. All the underground hits.
All Yellowson 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 punk 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 a mellotron and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Brick record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Human League,
Icehouse,
The Toasters,
The Young Rascals,
48th St. Collective,
Suburban Knight,
The Dirtbombs,
Trumans Water,
Crispy Ambulance,
Jesper Dahlback,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Y Pants,
Patti Smith,
World's Most,
Franke,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Pole,
The Durutti Column,
Cecil Taylor,
Brothers Johnson,
Unwound,
Aswad,
Bill Wells,
Johnny Clarke,
Oneida,
Robert Wyatt,
Little Man,
Jandek,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Sarah Menescal,
Quando Quango,
Gang of Four,
Banda Bassotti,
K-Klass,
Television,
Angry Samoans,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
The Golliwogs,
Zero Boys,
Easy Going,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Kaleidoscope,
Brass Construction,
Throbbing Gristle,
Marine Girls,
Rotary Connection,
Hot Snakes,
The Offenders,
Fad Gadget,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Slave,
The Star Department,
Theoretical Girls,
Crime,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Country Teasers,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Saccharine Trust, Saccharine Trust, Saccharine Trust, Saccharine Trust.
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.