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 Uzbekistan and from Accra.
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 Cairo and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lille 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 1975 at the first Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the chamberlin 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 The Doobie Brothers to the funk kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Sonics. All the underground hits.
All Strawberry Alarm Clock tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Black Pus record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz 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 theremin and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
B.T. Express,
Alison Limerick,
The Five Americans,
The Litter,
Alphaville,
Slick Rick,
Chris & Cosey,
The Standells,
Agent Orange,
The Blackbyrds,
Flipper,
Lucky Dragons,
Sonic Youth,
the Fania All-Stars,
Shoche,
Country Teasers,
Eurythmics,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Agitation Free,
Rekid,
H. Thieme,
Kenny Larkin,
Black Bananas,
The J.B.'s,
Deepchord,
Anakelly,
Drexciya,
Arthur Verocai,
The Leaves,
Jerry Gold Smith,
LL Cool J,
Jeru the Damaja,
DNA,
The Monochrome Set,
Lindisfarne,
cv313,
Maurizio,
Bill Wells,
Model 500,
Ten City,
Spandau Ballet,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Monks,
Letta Mbulu,
Heaven 17,
The Techniques,
Faust,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Lou Reed,
Lungfish,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Skaos,
Television Personalities,
48th St. Collective,
Jerry's Kids,
Sun Ra,
Jimmy McGriff,
Ronnie Foster,
The Pop Group,
Bush Tetras,
ABC,
Tomorrow, Tomorrow, Tomorrow, Tomorrow.
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.