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 Saudi Arabia and from Manila.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Josef K show in Edinburgh.
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 1963 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Hong Kong.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Avey Tare to the grunge 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 The Alarm Clocks. All the underground hits.
All Bang On A Can tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Mad Mike 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Idris Muhammad record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
the Sonics,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
the Swans,
Charles Mingus,
Jerry's Kids,
The Doobie Brothers,
Scientists,
Zapp,
Matthew Halsall,
Vladislav Delay,
Gabor Szabo,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
L. Decosne,
Todd Terry,
Harry Pussy,
Cybotron,
Howard Jones,
Bob Dylan,
Frankie Knuckles,
Ohio Players,
The Human League,
Slick Rick,
Faust,
Spoonie Gee,
China Crisis,
Alice Coltrane,
The Happenings,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Terry Callier,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Wings,
Barclay James Harvest,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Connie Case,
Gil Scott Heron,
Hot Snakes,
Albert Ayler,
ABBA,
Wolf Eyes,
Aural Exciters,
The Moody Blues,
Mary Jane Girls,
Sound Behaviour,
Letta Mbulu,
Boredoms,
Henry Cow,
Rod Modell,
Yaz,
Country Teasers,
The Martian,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Depeche Mode,
Erykah Badu,
June Days,
Cal Tjader,
Oneida,
Be Bop Deluxe,
the Human League,
The Modern Lovers,
The Remains,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band, Lafayette Afro Rock Band, Lafayette Afro Rock Band, Lafayette Afro Rock Band.
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.