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 Netherlands and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Big Star show in Memphis.
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 Stockholm and Seoul.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the sitar 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 Bang On A Can to the rock kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Manfred Mann's Earth Band. All the underground hits.
All The Residents tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Jerry Gold Smith record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Arab on Radar record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Lucky Dragons,
June Days,
R.M.O.,
Porter Ricks,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Magazine,
Joensuu 1685,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Robert Görl,
Sun Ra,
Fugazi,
Nik Kershaw,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
This Heat,
Wire,
James Chance & The Contortions,
X-Ray Spex,
The Names,
Idris Muhammad,
Ultra Naté,
Matthew Bourne,
Quantec,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Bush Tetras,
The Searchers,
Glambeats Corp.,
Slick Rick,
Brass Construction,
Pole,
Severed Heads,
The Monks,
Circle Jerks,
Television Personalities,
Radiopuhelimet,
Delon & Dalcan,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Bronski Beat,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Scan 7,
Alphaville,
Sonic Youth,
Lalo Schifrin,
Max Romeo,
Au Pairs,
Kool Moe Dee,
Cheater Slicks,
Curtis Mayfield,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
China Crisis,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Gastr Del Sol,
Mars,
The Blues Magoos,
The Slits,
The Mighty Diamonds,
The Electric Prunes,
Kayak,
Roxy Music,
Desert Stars,
the Human League,
John Lydon, John Lydon, John Lydon, John Lydon.
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.