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 Luxembourg and from Tokyo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television 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 1963 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Halifax 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 theremin 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 Nick Fraelich to the techno 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 Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five. All the underground hits.
All Sex Pistols tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Y Pants 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Harry Pussy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Basic Channel,
Gang Gang Dance,
The Gun Club,
Ice-T,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Grey Daturas,
F. McDonald,
Peter & Gordon,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Minnie Riperton,
The Standells,
Delta 5,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
The Blues Magoos,
Robert Wyatt,
Althea and Donna,
Rekid,
The Motions,
The Red Krayola,
Tears for Fears,
Eric Dolphy,
Gil Scott Heron,
Sonic Youth,
Fad Gadget,
Porter Ricks,
Deepchord,
Absolute Body Control,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Todd Terry,
Amon Düül,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
The Barracudas,
The Misunderstood,
Alice Coltrane,
Bang On A Can,
Crispy Ambulance,
Quando Quango,
Barbara Tucker,
Scrapy,
Pulsallama,
Marshall Jefferson,
Nik Kershaw,
Soft Cell,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Janne Schatter,
The Count Five,
the Fania All-Stars,
Sugar Minott,
Silicon Teens,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
The Detroit Cobras,
Sam Rivers,
The Pop Group,
Sound Behaviour,
Dead Boys,
The Gories,
cv313,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Soul Sonic Force,
Aural Exciters, Aural Exciters, Aural Exciters, Aural Exciters.
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.