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 Equatorial Guinea and from Mumbai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South 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 1964 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 1980 at the first Cybotron practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the arpeggiator 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 The Tremeloes to the dance kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Sam Rivers. All the underground hits.
All Young Marble Giants tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Stockholm Monsters 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Litter record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Lou Reed,
Judy Mowatt,
Nirvana,
Ultimate Spinach,
Bad Manners,
John Coltrane,
The Real Kids,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Second Layer,
Suicide,
Youth Brigade,
Hoover,
Lee Hazlewood,
The Fortunes,
Rotary Connection,
Ituana,
The Litter,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Gastr Del Sol,
Y Pants,
Ken Boothe,
cv313,
Slave,
Soulsonic Force,
Circle Jerks,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Dorothy Ashby,
Oblivians,
Bluetip,
Morten Harket,
Glenn Branca,
Johnny Clarke,
Kenny Larkin,
Zero Boys,
Niagra,
World's Most,
Pulsallama,
Easy Going,
the Sonics,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
UT,
The Searchers,
Derrick May,
DJ Style,
Jimmy McGriff,
Ice-T,
Lakeside,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Alphaville,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Davy DMX,
Howard Jones,
Bobby Womack, Bobby Womack, Bobby Womack, Bobby Womack.
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.