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 Chad and from Delhi.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Manila.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 1977 at the first Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Cecil Taylor to the disco 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 Country Joe & The Fish. All the underground hits.
All Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Deakin 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 mellotron and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a F. McDonald record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Tim Buckley,
Basic Channel,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Public Image Ltd.,
Gang Starr,
Brick,
Section 25,
Slick Rick,
Sight & Sound,
Aloha Tigers,
the Bar-Kays,
Severed Heads,
The Detroit Cobras,
Bush Tetras,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Avey Tare,
Guru Guru,
the Slits,
ABC,
Y Pants,
Malaria!,
Blancmange,
Khruangbin,
Judy Mowatt,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Crispy Ambulance,
Chrome,
Drive Like Jehu,
DJ Sneak,
Au Pairs,
Man Eating Sloth,
Rapeman,
Half Japanese,
Dead Boys,
Niagra,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Big Daddy Kane,
The Knickerbockers,
Fatback Band,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Simply Red,
Rosa Yemen,
John Holt,
Rhythm & Sound,
Gabor Szabo,
Traffic Nightmare,
Cheater Slicks,
Brothers Johnson,
Gregory Isaacs,
Masters at Work,
Hoover,
Quando Quango,
The Cowsills,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Yellowson,
Charles Mingus,
Letta Mbulu,
Radio Birdman,
Mad Mike, Mad Mike, Mad Mike, Mad Mike.
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.