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 Ethiopia and from Tehran.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Neu! show in Düsseldorf.
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 1965 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tokyo and Jakarta.
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 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 The Slits to the jazz 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 Robert Wyatt. All the underground hits.
All Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Marc Almond 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Roy Ayers record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
R.M.O.,
Monolake,
Icehouse,
the Bar-Kays,
The Slits,
Blossom Toes,
Television Personalities,
Gregory Isaacs,
John Coltrane,
Unwound,
Scion,
Dead Boys,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Nas,
Thompson Twins,
Yaz,
The Index,
Animal Collective,
June of 44,
F. McDonald,
Patti Smith,
Second Layer,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Sight & Sound,
Rites of Spring,
The Dirtbombs,
Guru Guru,
Underground Resistance,
Graham Central Station,
The Motions,
Isaac Hayes,
Bobby Hutcherson,
D'Angelo,
Q and Not U,
Robert Hood,
Scratch Acid,
Throbbing Gristle,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Frankie Knuckles,
Vladislav Delay,
Youth Brigade,
Angry Samoans,
The Pop Group,
Bobby Sherman,
Visage,
Spandau Ballet,
Soulsonic Force,
DNA,
Ossler,
Chris & Cosey,
EPMD,
Gastr Del Sol,
Skarface,
Mandrill,
Livin' Joy,
Joe Finger,
Simply Red,
Scientists,
Roxette,
The Electric Prunes,
Henry Cow, Henry Cow, Henry Cow, Henry Cow.
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.