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 Kyrgyzstan and from Cairo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1962 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Jakarta 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 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 James White and The Blacks to the rock 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 Mr. Review. All the underground hits.
All Fatback Band tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Howard Jones record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Cheater Slicks 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?
The Busters,
The Searchers,
Crooked Eye,
Sonny Sharrock,
The Black Dice,
Au Pairs,
Arab on Radar,
Moss Icon,
Malaria!,
Funky Four + One,
Aloha Tigers,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
X-102,
The Five Americans,
Glambeats Corp.,
Fugazi,
The Count Five,
The Music Machine,
Make Up,
Eddi Front,
The Real Kids,
Icehouse,
The Index,
Don Cherry,
Sugar Minott,
The Monks,
Frankie Knuckles,
The Fugs,
Ultravox,
Bauhaus,
Sun Ra,
Marcia Griffiths,
The Grass Roots,
Lou Reed,
The Gun Club,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Faraquet,
Minny Pops,
Sarah Menescal,
Motorama,
Prince Buster,
the Association,
Television,
Livin' Joy,
Cecil Taylor,
Youth Brigade,
Saccharine Trust,
FM Einheit,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
The Tremeloes,
Letta Mbulu,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Main Source,
The Doors,
Boogie Down Productions,
The Modern Lovers,
Depeche Mode,
Ronnie Foster,
Fat Boys,
Matthew Bourne,
The Detroit Cobras,
Pylon, Pylon, Pylon, Pylon.
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.