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 Kiribati and from Manila.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Seoul.
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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 The Peanut Butter Conspiracy to the disco 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 B.T. Express. All the underground hits.
All Gang Gang Dance tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Harry Pussy 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Johnny Osbourne record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Monks,
ABC,
The Electric Prunes,
Main Source,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
X-102,
Fela Kuti,
Kevin Saunderson,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Wire,
The J.B.'s,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
John Foxx,
Sight & Sound,
Dead Boys,
The Doobie Brothers,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Duran Duran,
Flash Fearless,
EPMD,
The Red Krayola,
Blancmange,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Rufus Thomas,
Make Up,
Big Daddy Kane,
The Cramps,
The Smoke,
Soul II Soul,
Ossler,
Rekid,
Brick,
Gabor Szabo,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
The Seeds,
Roxette,
Essential Logic,
Drive Like Jehu,
Cluster,
Dawn Penn,
Nik Kershaw,
The Divine Comedy,
The Zeros,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Surgeon,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
The Smiths,
Public Enemy,
the Normal,
Mo-Dettes,
Panda Bear,
Black Sheep,
Alison Limerick,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Wally Richardson,
Maurizio,
The Durutti Column,
The Cowsills,
The Sisters of Mercy, The Sisters of Mercy, The Sisters of Mercy, The Sisters of Mercy.
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.