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 Afghanistan and from Portland.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 1978 at the first Visage practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Warsaw to the grunge 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 Oppenheimer Analysis. All the underground hits.
All Babytalk tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pussy Galore 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Tres Demented record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin 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,
The Zeros,
the Association,
Subhumans,
Gang Gang Dance,
8 Eyed Spy,
Idris Muhammad,
The Standells,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
The Index,
Johnny Clarke,
Anakelly,
PIL,
The Barracudas,
Whodini,
Barclay James Harvest,
Mad Mike,
Eve St. Jones,
Glambeats Corp.,
Piero Umiliani,
Peter and Kerry,
Von Mondo,
The Martian,
The Walker Brothers,
Bluetip,
One Last Wish,
Robert Hood,
Susan Cadogan,
Q65,
Siglo XX,
The Alarm Clocks,
Man Parrish,
Gang of Four,
Thee Headcoats,
CMW,
This Heat,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
The Modern Lovers,
Yellowson,
Cecil Taylor,
Lalo Schifrin,
The Last Poets,
Barry Ungar,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Grey Daturas,
ABBA,
Ronnie Foster,
the Slits,
The Slits,
Bob Dylan,
Masters at Work,
Matthew Halsall,
Cheater Slicks,
Alice Coltrane,
JFA,
Thompson Twins,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Brand Nubian,
OOIOO,
Robert Wyatt,
Yaz,
Chrome,
Moby Grape,
Hasil Adkins,
Saccharine Trust, Saccharine Trust, Saccharine Trust, Saccharine Trust.
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.