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 Tonga and from Taipei.
But I was there.
I was there in 1978.
I was there at the first Visage show in 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 1962 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 1984 at the first Arcadia practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel to the grunge 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 Guru Guru. All the underground hits.
All the Germs tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Absolute Body Control record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Boredoms record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Rekid,
The Modern Lovers,
Gang Gang Dance,
cv313,
Visage,
Arthur Verocai,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Bad Manners,
Mr. Review,
T.S.O.L.,
Franke,
Flipper,
Suburban Knight,
Nils Olav,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Marine Girls,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Harry Pussy,
Erykah Badu,
Nik Kershaw,
Severed Heads,
Sticky Fingaz feat. Raekwon,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Steve Hackett,
the Soft Cell,
John Foxx,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Robert Görl,
48th St. Collective,
Curtis Mayfield,
Al Stewart,
Quadrant,
Johnny Clarke,
Patti Smith,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Harmonia,
Shoche,
The Smoke,
Junior Murvin,
Blake Baxter,
Barbara Tucker,
Livin' Joy,
Prince Buster,
Jerry's Kids,
Joy Division,
Eric Dolphy,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Neu!,
Ituana,
a-ha,
Con Funk Shun,
Electric Prunes,
Charles Mingus,
Ultimate Spinach,
Kerrie Biddell,
Henry Cow,
The Stooges,
Shuggie Otis,
The Mummies,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
The J.B.'s,
Blancmange,
Cheater Slicks, Cheater Slicks, Cheater Slicks, Cheater Slicks.
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.