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 Togo and from Portland.
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 1964 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Manila.
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 1976 at the first Feelies practice in a loft in Haledon.
I was working on the mellotron 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 The Wake to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Flesh Eaters. All the underground hits.
All David Bowie tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Gang Starr 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Kool G Rap & DJ Polo record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Angry Samoans,
The Gories,
Wally Richardson,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
The Remains,
Don Cherry,
Kevin Saunderson,
Tommy Roe,
Barbara Tucker,
The Fortunes,
Public Image Ltd.,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Public Enemy,
Silicon Teens,
Rapeman,
Mo-Dettes,
Erasure,
The Mummies,
Quando Quango,
E-Dancer,
The Offenders,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Warren Ellis,
Moby Grape,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Max Romeo,
The Dirtbombs,
Davy DMX,
X-Ray Spex,
Lucky Dragons,
Section 25,
Black Bananas,
The Gun Club,
Tubeway Army,
Blake Baxter,
Flipper,
Fluxion,
Freddie Wadling,
Pet Shop Boys,
Bill Near,
Gil Scott Heron,
Sexual Harrassment,
Kaleidoscope,
Fear,
Scott Walker,
Brick,
The Martian,
Mary Jane Girls,
The Doobie Brothers,
The Victims,
Ponytail,
A Flock of Seagulls,
The J.B.'s,
The Young Rascals,
David Bowie,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
The Star Department,
Johnny Osbourne,
The Pop Group,
Nick Fraelich,
Harpers Bizarre,
The Knickerbockers, The Knickerbockers, The Knickerbockers, The Knickerbockers.
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.