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 Togo and from Bologna.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bremen and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Salvador 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Sam Rivers to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Byron Stingily. All the underground hits.
All Bobby Womack tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Franke 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Nils Olav record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Stockholm Monsters,
Bootsy Collins,
June Days,
The Cowsills,
Robert Görl,
T.S.O.L.,
Junior Murvin,
Lee Hazlewood,
June of 44,
the Normal,
Swans,
Scan 7,
Tubeway Army,
Franke,
Eric Copeland,
The Five Americans,
The Buckinghams,
Nick Fraelich,
Johnny Osbourne,
MC5,
Pet Shop Boys,
Howard Jones,
The Smiths,
The Wake,
Brick,
Symarip,
Funky Four + One,
Gabor Szabo,
Tom Boy,
Blake Baxter,
Deakin,
The Names,
Bobby Womack,
The Leaves,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
The Neon Judgement,
The Raincoats,
X-102,
Chris Corsano,
The Music Machine,
Scratch Acid,
T. Rex,
Albert Ayler,
The Offenders,
Aaron Thompson,
In Retrospect,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Ultravox,
Sugar Minott,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Hashim,
Donald Byrd,
Yaz,
The Doors,
Chrome,
48th St. Collective,
UT,
Grey Daturas,
The Pretty Things,
Lucky Dragons,
Sexual Harrassment, Sexual Harrassment, Sexual Harrassment, Sexual Harrassment.
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.