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 Mauritania and from Spokane.
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 1964 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 1977 at the first Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 48th St. Collective to the dance 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 Tropical Tobacco. All the underground hits.
All Roxy Music tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Freddie Wadling 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a snare 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 harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord 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?
Roy Ayers,
Erasure,
The Index,
World's Most,
Theoretical Girls,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Saccharine Trust,
John Cale,
Lightning Bolt,
The Victims,
Janne Schatter,
Fear,
Black Pus,
The Cowsills,
Hot Snakes,
Girls At Our Best!,
48th St. Collective,
T. Rex,
John Holt,
Interpol,
Harpers Bizarre,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Pantaleimon,
The Monochrome Set,
Rakim,
Brick,
Roxy Music,
Section 25,
Delta 5,
The Techniques,
Donald Byrd,
Crooked Eye,
Pagans,
New Order,
Lou Christie,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Sonny Sharrock,
Skriet,
Eve St. Jones,
Sixth Finger,
Dead Boys,
Kerri Chandler,
Soft Machine,
Scratch Acid,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Fat Boys,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
ABC,
Guru Guru,
EPMD,
Ludus,
Joy Division,
Moby Grape,
The United States of America,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Chris Corsano,
The Zeros,
8 Eyed Spy,
Country Teasers,
The Fall, The Fall, The Fall, The Fall.
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.