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 Netherlands and from Stockholm.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Art of Noise show in London.
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 1960 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in New York and Seoul.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 güiro 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 Ohio Players to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Visage. All the underground hits.
All The Cowsills tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Lindisfarne record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a snare and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a the Germs record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Rapeman,
Cameo,
KRS-One,
The Beau Brummels,
The Busters,
Duran Duran,
The Gun Club,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
AZ,
The Divine Comedy,
Model 500,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Guru Guru,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Don Cherry,
Fugazi,
Matthew Bourne,
Shoche,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Gang Green,
Technova,
Magma,
Kurtis Blow,
Wolf Eyes,
Hot Snakes,
Johnny Clarke,
Quando Quango,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Aswad,
Grandmaster Flash,
The Martian,
the Fania All-Stars,
Cecil Taylor,
Roxette,
Tim Buckley,
The Wake,
Gang Starr,
Gil Scott Heron,
New Age Steppers,
Kenny Larkin,
Country Teasers,
X-102,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Camouflage,
Sällskapet,
Tropical Tobacco,
Wally Richardson,
Darondo,
The Music Machine,
Kerri Chandler,
Joensuu 1685,
Banda Bassotti,
Lakeside,
Delon & Dalcan,
Susan Cadogan,
Bobby Womack,
Hoover,
Matthew Halsall,
The Black Dice,
The Detroit Cobras,
Eve St. Jones,
DNA, DNA, DNA, DNA.
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.