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 Armenia and from New York.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South 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 1965 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Tokyo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 1971 at the first Big Star practice in a loft in Memphis.
I was working on the clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Big Daddy Kane to the disco kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Lakeside. All the underground hits.
All Ajijia Myrayebe tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Throbbing Gristle 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a 48th St. Collective record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Liliput,
Black Pus,
Alison Limerick,
Stiv Bators,
Altered Images,
The Grass Roots,
The Five Americans,
The Knickerbockers,
The Smiths,
Radio Birdman,
Man Eating Sloth,
ABC,
Minnie Riperton,
Dorothy Ashby,
Crooked Eye,
Smog,
the Fania All-Stars,
Tommy Roe,
The Misunderstood,
Lindisfarne,
Pole,
June Days,
Kas Product,
Deepchord,
Swans,
Dave Gahan,
The Tremeloes,
Danielle Patucci,
The Happenings,
Bauhaus,
One Last Wish,
The Residents,
James White and The Blacks,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Lower 48,
John Holt,
Ronan,
Robert Hood,
Bronski Beat,
Wire,
Dead Boys,
Peter and Kerry,
Underground Resistance,
Little Man,
Suicide,
Al Stewart,
Sarah Menescal,
Curtis Mayfield,
Mark Hollis,
Clear Light,
June of 44,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Ultimate Spinach,
Jeff Mills,
Excepter,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Arthur Verocai,
Gang Green,
Chris & Cosey,
Black Sheep,
The Blackbyrds,
Marmalade,
Q65, Q65, Q65, Q65.
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.