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 Austria and from Winnipeg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle 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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Manila.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mumbai 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 1976 at the first Feelies practice in a loft in Haledon.
I was working on the synthesizer 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 Eric B and Rakim to the grunge kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Television Personalities. All the underground hits.
All Nils Olav tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Nirvana 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Model 500 record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a 808.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Das Ding,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Eric Dolphy,
The Divine Comedy,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Monolake,
ABC,
Sun Ra,
Hoover,
Black Sheep,
Babytalk,
Spoonie Gee,
Kurtis Blow,
The Birthday Party,
Schoolly D,
Los Fastidios,
Masters at Work,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Moby Grape,
T. Rex,
Soft Machine,
Cal Tjader,
Nils Olav,
Electric Prunes,
The Alarm Clocks,
Inner City,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
The Gories,
Wasted Youth,
OOIOO,
Derrick May,
Gerry Rafferty,
Flipper,
The Techniques,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Gabor Szabo,
8 Eyed Spy,
Quantec,
Morten Harket,
Juan Atkins,
Rotary Connection,
Carl Craig,
The Detroit Cobras,
Todd Terry,
Adolescents,
The Velvet Underground,
Matthew Halsall,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Black Moon,
Half Japanese,
Jimmy McGriff,
Faraquet,
The Music Machine,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
the Bar-Kays,
Depeche Mode,
Lyres,
Fugazi,
Mark Hollis,
Matthew Bourne,
David Axelrod,
Kool Moe Dee,
Archie Shepp,
Bluetip, Bluetip, Bluetip, Bluetip.
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.