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 Zimbabwe and from Calgary.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 Mumbai and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 John Foxx to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Marshall Jefferson. All the underground hits.
All Tim Buckley tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Rosa Yemen 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The United States of America record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
A Certain Ratio,
Lakeside,
Cheater Slicks,
Minnie Riperton,
Man Eating Sloth,
Severed Heads,
Fifty Foot Hose,
The Fuzztones,
Colin Newman,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Intrusion,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
David Axelrod,
Alice Coltrane,
Robert Wyatt,
Soft Machine,
Black Moon,
Vainqueur,
X-102,
Neil Young,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Don Cherry,
Archie Shepp,
Dead Boys,
June of 44,
Anakelly,
Ohio Players,
T. Rex,
The United States of America,
Q and Not U,
Joe Smooth,
Bill Near,
Rod Modell,
The J.B.'s,
Soft Cell,
Liliput,
Parry Music,
Slick Rick,
R.M.O.,
Johnny Clarke,
Boogie Down Productions,
Eyeless In Gaza,
K-Klass,
Eddi Front,
EPMD,
Sam Rivers,
Sister Nancy,
Jeru the Damaja,
Sex Pistols,
Country Joe & The Fish,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Skarface,
Television,
Thee Headcoats,
The Cure,
Ice-T,
Niagra,
AZ,
Groovy Waters,
Yellowson, Yellowson, Yellowson, Yellowson.
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.