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 Somalia and from Glasgow.
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 1966 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Houston and Mexico City.
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 1983 at the first Lewis practice in a loft in Vancouver.
I was working on the 808 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 Schoolly D to the disco kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Sunsets and Hearts. All the underground hits.
All Harpers Bizarre tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Traffic Nightmare record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Black Pus record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Smoke,
Jacques Brel,
The Invisible,
Hot Snakes,
CMW,
The Saints,
Can,
Bobbi Humphrey,
The Mummies,
The Last Poets,
Ten City,
MDC,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
the Human League,
Terrestrial Tones,
Sarah Menescal,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Spoonie Gee,
Sex Pistols,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
The Count Five,
Lyres,
Rhythm & Sound,
Nas,
Alphaville,
Derrick Morgan,
Mo-Dettes,
The Busters,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
John Lydon,
Los Fastidios,
Popol Vuh,
Pantaleimon,
Porter Ricks,
Ludus,
Camberwell Now,
MC5,
Gang Starr,
Cecil Taylor,
The Angels of Light,
Icehouse,
Infiniti,
Talk Talk,
Fugazi,
Ronan,
Steve Hackett,
ABBA,
Chris Corsano,
Quantec,
David Bowie,
The Zeros,
These Immortal Souls,
Magazine,
The Pop Group,
The Vogues,
The Names,
Girls At Our Best!,
Index,
The Dirtbombs,
Davy DMX,
Agitation Free,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
The Smiths, The Smiths, The Smiths, The Smiths.
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.