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 Brunei and from Hong Kong.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Josef K show in Edinburgh.
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 1969 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 1975 at the first Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Siouxsie and the Banshees to the grunge 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 The Knickerbockers. All the underground hits.
All Cluster tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Barbara Tucker 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Frankie Knuckles record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
The Knickerbockers,
David Axelrod,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Pharoah Sanders,
Howard Jones,
Wally Richardson,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Bronski Beat,
The Last Poets,
Organ,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Ludus,
R.M.O.,
The Associates,
Roger Hodgson,
China Crisis,
The American Breed,
Aloha Tigers,
Eric B and Rakim,
The Fire Engines,
Boogie Down Productions,
The Mojo Men,
Gang Green,
Rosa Yemen,
X-Ray Spex,
Girls At Our Best!,
Junior Murvin,
T.S.O.L.,
Neil Young,
Deakin,
Aaron Thompson,
the Swans,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Trumans Water,
Flipper,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
48th St. Collective,
Dennis Brown,
Tropical Tobacco,
Morten Harket,
Mary Jane Girls,
Yazoo,
the Bar-Kays,
The Smoke,
James White and The Blacks,
Suicide,
Byron Stingily,
Eve St. Jones,
Neu!,
Lucky Dragons,
Saccharine Trust,
Bobby Sherman,
Absolute Body Control,
The Saints,
Warsaw,
Electric Prunes,
The Moody Blues,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Rotary Connection,
Gregory Isaacs,
Barry Ungar,
kango's stein massive,
8 Eyed Spy, 8 Eyed Spy, 8 Eyed Spy, 8 Eyed Spy.
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.