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 East Timor and from Jakarta.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide show in New York.
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 1961 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Trojans to the electroclash 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 The Real Kids. All the underground hits.
All The Monks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Nick Fraelich record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Dirtbombs record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Moss Icon,
The Cramps,
Lyres,
Terrestrial Tones,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
The Slackers,
Television Personalities,
Whodini,
Kayak,
Sister Nancy,
Soul II Soul,
Scion,
The Blues Magoos,
The Fall,
Scott Walker,
Zero Boys,
Public Image Ltd.,
Don Cherry,
Radio Birdman,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
The Offenders,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
the Swans,
This Heat,
Crispy Ambulance,
LL Cool J,
These Immortal Souls,
Funky Four + One,
The Smoke,
The Martian,
Circle Jerks,
Wolf Eyes,
The Happenings,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Television,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Groovy Waters,
ABBA,
CMW,
Scrapy,
Dead Boys,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
The Count Five,
Niagra,
Bush Tetras,
Theoretical Girls,
Ohio Players,
Essential Logic,
Ultra Naté,
Unrelated Segments,
David Bowie,
Flipper,
Anthony Braxton,
8 Eyed Spy,
Ituana,
Howard Jones,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Mark Hollis,
48th St. Collective,
Camberwell Now,
Swell Maps, Swell Maps, Swell Maps, Swell Maps.
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.