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 Latvia and from Hong Kong.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide 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 1961 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the oboe 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 Wolf Eyes to the punk 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 Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud. All the underground hits.
All Cameo tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Unwound 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?
Scratch Acid,
This Heat,
The Vogues,
Sugar Minott,
Oblivians,
A Certain Ratio,
Lower 48,
The Raincoats,
The Happenings,
Soulsonic Force,
T. Rex,
The Barracudas,
World's Most,
Siglo XX,
Tropical Tobacco,
Ultimate Spinach,
Youth Brigade,
Gang of Four,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Amazonics,
Negative Approach,
Surgeon,
Organ,
Arthur Verocai,
The Fall,
The New Christs,
Pussy Galore,
Joyce Sims,
The Stooges,
John Coltrane,
Matthew Halsall,
Slick Rick,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
the Bar-Kays,
Junior Murvin,
Newcleus,
Minnie Riperton,
Index,
The Grass Roots,
Groovy Waters,
Harpers Bizarre,
Big Daddy Kane,
Wolf Eyes,
Graham Central Station,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Rotary Connection,
Mad Mike,
Susan Cadogan,
Throbbing Gristle,
The Victims,
Fear,
Make Up,
Eric Copeland,
the Fania All-Stars,
Cluster,
The Wake,
The Move,
Scientists,
Qualms,
Harmonia,
Terrestrial Tones, Terrestrial Tones, Terrestrial Tones, Terrestrial Tones.
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.