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 Pakistan and from Stockholm.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1968 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lagos 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 1971 at the first Big Star practice in a loft in Memphis.
I was working on the 808 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 Throbbing Gristle to the dance 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 Jawbox. All the underground hits.
All Yaz tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bill Wells record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a De La Soul & Jungle Brothers record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Durutti Column,
Wasted Youth,
Agitation Free,
The Zeros,
The Litter,
Dorothy Ashby,
Crispy Ambulance,
Dark Day,
Grey Daturas,
Little Man,
The Residents,
The Moody Blues,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Soft Cell,
Soul II Soul,
Dawn Penn,
The Dirtbombs,
Soft Machine,
Procol Harum,
A Certain Ratio,
K-Klass,
The Count Five,
Lightning Bolt,
Marine Girls,
Metal Thangz,
The Selecter,
Lalann,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Eric B and Rakim,
Make Up,
Blancmange,
Marvin Gaye,
Lee Hazlewood,
Rhythm & Sound,
KRS-One,
Reagan Youth,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Kerri Chandler,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
L. Decosne,
Ken Boothe,
the Fania All-Stars,
Brass Construction,
Bad Manners,
Public Enemy,
Malaria!,
Aloha Tigers,
48th St. Collective,
Pere Ubu,
Sam Rivers,
Ralphi Rosario,
Sarah Menescal,
Scratch Acid,
Nirvana,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Kerrie Biddell,
Stiv Bators,
Rites of Spring,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
The Gun Club,
Cheater Slicks, Cheater Slicks, Cheater Slicks, Cheater Slicks.
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.