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 Estonia and from Houston.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Spokane.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mumbai 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 LL Cool J 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 Bobby Byrd. All the underground hits.
All Beasts of Bourbon tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Derrick May record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe 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?
Faraquet,
Deepchord,
Ultra Naté,
Mission of Burma,
Althea and Donna,
The Music Machine,
The Gories,
X-101,
The Moleskins,
Faust,
In Retrospect,
The Durutti Column,
Arcadia,
Jeff Mills,
Eyeless In Gaza,
The Dave Clark Five,
Heaven 17,
Grandmaster Flash,
The Move,
Roger Hodgson,
Sugar Minott,
The Wake,
Drexciya,
Black Moon,
Urselle,
Kevin Saunderson,
The Fire Engines,
DJ Sneak,
Newcleus,
Icehouse,
Public Enemy,
Gerry Rafferty,
Rufus Thomas,
Davy DMX,
The Litter,
Tom Boy,
Marc Almond,
Sarah Menescal,
Nick Fraelich,
The Residents,
Dead Boys,
The Human League,
Zero Boys,
the Bar-Kays,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Aural Exciters,
Judy Mowatt,
Bang On A Can,
Clear Light,
The Slackers,
Ultravox,
Pylon,
The Fugs,
The Gun Club,
Maleditus Sound,
Sex Pistols,
Spandau Ballet,
Robert Hood,
Lalo Schifrin,
Warsaw,
David McCallum,
Roxette, Roxette, Roxette, Roxette.
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.