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 Bahrain and from Portland.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1967 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Portland.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 guitar 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 Heavy D & The Boyz to the grunge kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 H. Thieme. All the underground hits.
All Pere Ubu tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Nick Fraelich record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an organ and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Saints record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Desert Stars,
John Coltrane,
Loose Ends,
Aloha Tigers,
The Blackbyrds,
Roxette,
The Fortunes,
Nick Fraelich,
New York Dolls,
Drive Like Jehu,
Gang Green,
Toni Rubio,
Roy Ayers,
The Neon Judgement,
The Wake,
Alison Limerick,
Delon & Dalcan,
Joe Finger,
Dennis Brown,
These Immortal Souls,
Bad Manners,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
the Bar-Kays,
Chrome,
Aswad,
The Count Five,
Interpol,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
The Pretty Things,
Nation of Ulysses,
Deakin,
Dark Day,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
The Names,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Swans,
Man Parrish,
Average White Band,
China Crisis,
Absolute Body Control,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
The Golliwogs,
Tomorrow,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Moby Grape,
Anakelly,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Eric B and Rakim,
Radio Birdman,
Japan,
Bush Tetras,
Beasts of Bourbon,
John Cale,
The Evens,
Wally Richardson,
Suicide,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Simply Red,
Yazoo,
Lalann,
Eric Copeland, Eric Copeland, Eric Copeland, Eric Copeland.
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.