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 Mozambique and from Lagos.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1961 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 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 Don Cherry to the dance 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 Pere Ubu. All the underground hits.
All The Count Five tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Vogues record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock 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 sitar and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Inner City record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Vladislav Delay,
Cal Tjader,
Peter & Gordon,
Joey Negro,
Ituana,
Roxy Music,
Hardrive,
Howard Jones,
Dorothy Ashby,
Peter and Kerry,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
New York Dolls,
The Zeros,
Rites of Spring,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Sam Rivers,
Barclay James Harvest,
Masters at Work,
Groovy Waters,
Lower 48,
Half Japanese,
Ornette Coleman,
Tubeway Army,
Scan 7,
Black Pus,
K-Klass,
Talk Talk,
H. Thieme,
The Tremeloes,
Kas Product,
Gichy Dan,
Reuben Wilson,
Barrington Levy,
The Knickerbockers,
Little Man,
F. McDonald,
Lalann,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Faraquet,
Albert Ayler,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Eric Dolphy,
The J.B.'s,
Severed Heads,
Soft Machine,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Moebius,
Cluster,
Scratch Acid,
The Doors,
Spandau Ballet,
Harmonia,
Sparks,
Reagan Youth,
Joe Finger,
Black Bananas,
The Fugs,
Nico,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Nick Fraelich,
Bobby Sherman, Bobby Sherman, Bobby Sherman, Bobby Sherman.
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.