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 Ecuador and from Taipei.
But I was there.
I was there in 1978.
I was there at the first Visage show in London.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Portland.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Jakarta 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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Grey Daturas to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Slits. All the underground hits.
All Matthew Bourne tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Marcia Griffiths 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Lucky Dragons record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Terrestrial Tones,
10cc,
Chrome,
Pagans,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Rufus Thomas,
Amon Düül,
Neil Young,
Zapp,
Electric Prunes,
Bobby Sherman,
Porter Ricks,
China Crisis,
Slave,
Crooked Eye,
The Cure,
The Velvet Underground,
Arthur Verocai,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Flash Fearless,
Index,
Parry Music,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
The Last Poets,
The Index,
The Cramps,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
The Searchers,
Malaria!,
Sun City Girls,
Prince Buster,
Blossom Toes,
Main Source,
Sun Ra,
The Alarm Clocks,
Stereo Dub,
John Foxx,
Cal Tjader,
Soul Sonic Force,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Intrusion,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Skaos,
Unwound,
Scott Walker,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Sister Nancy,
Supertramp,
Bronski Beat,
Chris & Cosey,
Slick Rick,
Michelle Simonal,
Wally Richardson,
Unrelated Segments,
Little Man,
Jerry's Kids,
Colin Newman,
ABC,
A Certain Ratio,
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.