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 Malawi and from Woodstock.
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 1965 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Milan and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Winnipeg 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 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the arpeggiator 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 Bobbi Humphrey to the punk kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 The Five Americans. All the underground hits.
All Interpol tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every the Human League record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Black Moon record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Minny Pops,
Tubeway Army,
Buzzcocks,
The Mighty Diamonds,
The Fire Engines,
Gong,
Morten Harket,
The Monks,
Depeche Mode,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Moby Grape,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Flamin' Groovies,
Siglo XX,
Television,
New Order,
Carl Craig,
Soft Machine,
Sparks,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Erykah Badu,
the Germs,
Goldenarms,
Accadde A,
Aural Exciters,
Ronan,
Bill Near,
The Selecter,
Jeru the Damaja,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Rakim,
Porter Ricks,
Reuben Wilson,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Sugar Minott,
Big Daddy Kane,
H. Thieme,
John Cale,
The Dave Clark Five,
The Index,
Technova,
The Cramps,
Frankie Knuckles,
Electric Prunes,
Flash Fearless,
Darondo,
Shuggie Otis,
Marmalade,
The Slackers,
The Residents,
Camberwell Now,
Make Up,
Michelle Simonal,
Saccharine Trust,
Terrestrial Tones,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Animal Collective,
The Cowsills,
The Mojo Men,
The Mummies, The Mummies, The Mummies, The Mummies.
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.