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 Namibia and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1964 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Skarface to the rap kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Y Pants. All the underground hits.
All Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Frankie Knuckles record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Doobie Brothers record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro 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?
The Modern Lovers,
Albert Ayler,
Wasted Youth,
Lyres,
The Fuzztones,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Bad Manners,
John Holt,
The Cowsills,
Stetsasonic,
Fat Boys,
Anthony Braxton,
Bang On A Can,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Drexciya,
Letta Mbulu,
ABC,
The Detroit Cobras,
Johnny Osbourne,
The Slackers,
John Foxx,
Television Personalities,
Panda Bear,
Roxette,
Talk Talk,
Erasure,
Gil Scott Heron,
Nas,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
The Real Kids,
Wally Richardson,
Blancmange,
Shoche,
Peter and Kerry,
Warsaw,
Sun City Girls,
Maleditus Sound,
H. Thieme,
LL Cool J,
Inner City,
Crime,
Agent Orange,
The Buckinghams,
Grey Daturas,
Subhumans,
Barry Ungar,
The Fortunes,
The Moleskins,
Erykah Badu,
Depeche Mode,
Harpers Bizarre,
Terrestrial Tones,
Pantytec,
Alison Limerick,
Hardrive,
Sam Rivers,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Alphaville,
Sugar Minott,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Pole, Pole, Pole, Pole.
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.