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 Azerbaijan and from Lille.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South 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 1967 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Milan and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 harpsichord 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 Tres Demented to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 AZ. All the underground hits.
All Robert Görl tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Boz Scaggs record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Neon Judgement record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Oneida,
Janne Schatter,
Malaria!,
Danielle Patucci,
John Lydon,
Soft Cell,
Idris Muhammad,
Ponytail,
Newcleus,
Harry Pussy,
Au Pairs,
Stiv Bators,
Big Daddy Kane,
The Doors,
Sugar Minott,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Khruangbin,
The Saints,
Country Teasers,
Das Ding,
Scott Walker,
Scion,
Sarah Menescal,
The Knickerbockers,
Pulsallama,
Jeff Mills,
Surgeon,
JFA,
Jesper Dahlback,
Hardrive,
Thompson Twins,
Television Personalities,
Arcadia,
The Blackbyrds,
Mary Jane Girls,
Yellowson,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Quando Quango,
The Slits,
The Mummies,
The Raincoats,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Frankie Knuckles,
Mr. Review,
Glenn Branca,
Jawbox,
Oblivians,
Scrapy,
Gang of Four,
Sandy B,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
the Association,
Kaleidoscope,
Masters at Work,
Althea and Donna,
Drexciya,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Crispian St. Peters,
Jacques Brel,
Kerri Chandler,
Byron Stingily,
Pere Ubu, Pere Ubu, Pere Ubu, Pere Ubu.
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.