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 Germany and from Philadelphia.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle 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 1965 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 1984 at the first Arcadia practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the güiro sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Oblivians to the grime kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Dead Boys. All the underground hits.
All Inner City tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Wally Richardson record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pussy Galore record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Funkadelic,
A Flock of Seagulls,
The Fortunes,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Duran Duran,
Nation of Ulysses,
Yusef Lateef,
Intrusion,
Todd Rundgren,
David Axelrod,
The Mummies,
David Bowie,
The Knickerbockers,
Nirvana,
Pantytec,
Crime,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Moss Icon,
Harpers Bizarre,
Swans,
Al Stewart,
Brand Nubian,
The Misunderstood,
Morten Harket,
Scan 7,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
The Moleskins,
Quantec,
Sight & Sound,
Drexciya,
Bobby Sherman,
Roxy Music,
The Fuzztones,
Pharoah Sanders,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Eric Copeland,
Frankie Knuckles,
Nils Olav,
Bizarre Inc.,
Ultravox,
Sun City Girls,
Mandrill,
Camron Feat. Jay Z And Juelz,
Theoretical Girls,
Yazoo,
Jacques Brel,
James White and The Blacks,
Toni Rubio,
Sexual Harrassment,
The Index,
Ronnie Foster,
Rosa Yemen,
Khruangbin,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Simply Red,
48th St. Collective,
Minor Threat,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Johnny Osbourne,
Anakelly,
The Offenders,
Motorama,
Bad Manners, Bad Manners, Bad Manners, Bad Manners.
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.