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 Greece and from Manchester.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Big Star show in Memphis.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Jakarta.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Sex Pistols 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 Leonard Cohen. All the underground hits.
All Surgeon tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every New York Dolls record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 808 and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Banda Bassotti record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ten City,
Thee Headcoats,
Barry Ungar,
Fear,
Lee Hazlewood,
Wolf Eyes,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Fatback Band,
Motorama,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Howard Jones,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Main Source,
Whodini,
Eric Copeland,
Deepchord,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Sandy B,
The Real Kids,
Marshall Jefferson,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Animal Collective,
Sex Pistols,
The Fugs,
Index,
B.T. Express,
Pharoah Sanders,
World's Most,
Absolute Body Control,
Ultimate Spinach,
Roger Hodgson,
K-Klass,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
ABC,
Young Marble Giants,
Deakin,
Tubeway Army,
The Durutti Column,
Andrew Hill,
Average White Band,
Radio Birdman,
Clear Light,
Erasure,
Scion,
Arcadia,
Lungfish,
New Order,
Jeff Lynne,
Cybotron,
The Blackbyrds,
The Gories,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Letta Mbulu,
The Happenings,
Suburban Knight,
Jandek,
Ultravox,
Joy Division,
Minny Pops,
Interpol,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Maurizio,
The Tremeloes,
Althea and Donna, Althea and Donna, Althea and Donna, Althea and Donna.
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.