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 Bhutan and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television show in New York.
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 1964 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Winnipeg 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 Buzzcocks practice in a loft in Bolton.
I was working on the mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Scratch Acid to the techno kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Neil Young. All the underground hits.
All Grauzone tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sugar Minott record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a snare and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gang Starr record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Duran Duran,
The Remains,
Soft Machine,
Quantec,
Tropical Tobacco,
Suburban Knight,
Alice Coltrane,
Brand Nubian,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Eddi Front,
Morten Harket,
Scott Walker,
June of 44,
the Slits,
Kaleidoscope,
Radio Birdman,
Animal Collective,
The Index,
Jandek,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Al Stewart,
Motorama,
Dead Boys,
Supertramp,
David Axelrod,
Dennis Brown,
Mandrill,
Lyres,
Skarface,
Derrick May,
Maleditus Sound,
The Mummies,
Organ,
Bob Dylan,
Second Layer,
Bang On A Can,
The Slits,
Susan Cadogan,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Quadrant,
This Heat,
Tom Boy,
Bobby Sherman,
Nas,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Sister Nancy,
Suicide,
Fat Boys,
Johnny Clarke,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Hashim,
Dark Day,
Mark Hollis,
Visage,
ABC,
Stockholm Monsters,
Pantaleimon,
China Crisis,
Television Personalities,
Blossom Toes,
Boz Scaggs,
The Techniques, The Techniques, The Techniques, The Techniques.
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.