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 Mongolia and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1961 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Manila.
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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Selector Dub Narcotic to the rap kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Theoretical Girls. All the underground hits.
All Fort Wilson Riot tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Hardrive record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime 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 theremin and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Anakelly,
Kaleidoscope,
Ponytail,
Maurizio,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Pole,
Ronnie Foster,
The Cramps,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Ornette Coleman,
Neil Young,
The Doors,
Rekid,
Juan Atkins,
The Gladiators,
John Lydon,
Harry Pussy,
the Association,
A Certain Ratio,
Cameo,
Joe Finger,
Q and Not U,
Wire,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
David Bowie,
Pylon,
In Retrospect,
Ossler,
Ken Boothe,
T. Rex,
Mo-Dettes,
Hashim,
Ultimate Spinach,
Skriet,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Jandek,
Sandy B,
the Swans,
Kayak,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
The Saints,
Crispy Ambulance,
Niagra,
Negative Approach,
Soulsonic Force,
the Germs,
The Litter,
the Slits,
John Foxx,
Little Man,
PIL,
The Misunderstood,
Young Marble Giants,
Sugar Minott,
Colin Newman,
Stockholm Monsters,
The Searchers,
The Buckinghams,
Rakim,
Echospace,
Ituana,
Underground Resistance,
Ultra Naté,
The Fortunes, The Fortunes, The Fortunes, The Fortunes.
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.