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 Zambia and from Halifax.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1966 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Public Image Ltd. to the funk kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Gap Band. All the underground hits.
All Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sonny Sharrock 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Eli Mardock record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Angels of Light,
The Mojo Men,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Ten City,
Reuben Wilson,
The Standells,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Ultravox,
Jacob Miller,
Suicide,
Electric Prunes,
Idris Muhammad,
Crooked Eye,
Alton Ellis,
Intrusion,
Negative Approach,
Gabor Szabo,
Das Ding,
John Lydon,
Roxette,
Nils Olav,
Anakelly,
Fatback Band,
Kaleidoscope,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Inner City,
Camouflage,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Maurizio,
Gil Scott Heron,
F. McDonald,
Black Bananas,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Bobby Womack,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Easy Going,
Boogie Down Productions,
The Busters,
Alice Coltrane,
The Blues Magoos,
Nick Fraelich,
Kool Moe Dee,
Sister Nancy,
Hashim,
The Searchers,
Masters at Work,
Suburban Knight,
Quadrant,
The Residents,
L. Decosne,
Joe Finger,
Davy DMX,
The Flesh Eaters,
Rapeman,
The Human League,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Man Parrish,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
PIL, PIL, PIL, PIL.
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.