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 Laos and from Calgary.
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 1968 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Taipei.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 Buzzcocks practice in a loft in Bolton.
I was working on the marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Mr. Review to the rap kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Ronnie Foster. All the underground hits.
All David Bowie tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Gang Gang Dance record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Barrington Levy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Wolf Eyes,
Charles Mingus,
Mr. Review,
China Crisis,
Dark Day,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Sun City Girls,
The Slits,
Faraquet,
Anthony Braxton,
John Cale,
Reagan Youth,
Accadde A,
The Gladiators,
Section 25,
Hasil Adkins,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Crispian St. Peters,
The Smoke,
Tommy Roe,
Nirvana,
Eli Mardock,
The Happenings,
Jacques Brel,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Main Source,
Unrelated Segments,
KRS-One,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Man Parrish,
Barry Ungar,
FM Einheit,
The Cowsills,
Goldenarms,
Scrapy,
Pulsallama,
The Doobie Brothers,
Brick,
Ultra Naté,
Isaac Hayes,
Man Eating Sloth,
Depeche Mode,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Popol Vuh,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Gichy Dan,
The Slackers,
The Beau Brummels,
The Invisible,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
the Association,
Arab on Radar,
The Pop Group,
The Human League,
The Velvet Underground,
Terry Callier,
Swans,
Gil Scott Heron,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
F. McDonald,
Sixth Finger, Sixth Finger, Sixth Finger, Sixth Finger.
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.