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 St Kitts & Nevis and from Lyon.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television 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 1961 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Winnipeg.
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 Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Television to the techno 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 Public Image Ltd.. All the underground hits.
All The Neon Judgement tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every the Bar-Kays 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Last Poets record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Monks,
Fatback Band,
Oblivians,
Kas Product,
The Moleskins,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Letta Mbulu,
Crispian St. Peters,
Pantytec,
Siglo XX,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
The Modern Lovers,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Joey Negro,
Aloha Tigers,
Pharoah Sanders,
Oneida,
a-ha,
Bad Manners,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Los Fastidios,
Thee Headcoats,
The Barracudas,
Marine Girls,
Suicide,
The Happenings,
Y Pants,
Mars,
The United States of America,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Niagra,
Tropical Tobacco,
Amon Düül II,
Don Cherry,
Lee Hazlewood,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Idris Muhammad,
Severed Heads,
The Cowsills,
Frankie Knuckles,
Duran Duran,
Judy Mowatt,
The Remains,
Davy DMX,
The Monochrome Set,
Radiohead,
Johnny Clarke,
Derrick May,
The Slackers,
Excepter,
The Birthday Party,
The Doors,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Girls At Our Best!,
Leonard Cohen,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Fat Boys,
Ice-T,
Terry Callier,
The Residents,
Rites of Spring,
The American Breed,
The Velvet Underground, The Velvet Underground, The Velvet Underground, The Velvet Underground.
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.