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 Syria and from Beijing.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Art of Noise show in 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 1960 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 John Holt to the punk 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 Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark. All the underground hits.
All New York Dolls tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Trojans record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash 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 chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sixth Finger 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?
Marvin Gaye,
Sun City Girls,
Yellowson,
Joe Smooth,
Fat Boys,
Gabor Szabo,
Mandrill,
Delta 5,
Talk Talk,
Delon & Dalcan,
Josef K,
Echospace,
Derrick May,
Todd Terry,
La Düsseldorf,
Rapeman,
Jesper Dahlback,
Mad Mike,
Silicon Teens,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Black Bananas,
the Swans,
T. Rex,
The Birthday Party,
Al Stewart,
Jerry's Kids,
Kerrie Biddell,
the Slits,
Ash Ra Tempel,
This Heat,
Minny Pops,
Barry Ungar,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
The Sonics,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Morten Harket,
Blossom Toes,
The Pretty Things,
Sexual Harrassment,
Yazoo,
Bob Dylan,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Amon Düül II,
Davy DMX,
Big Daddy Kane,
Stereo Dub,
Rhythm & Sound,
Alice Coltrane,
Aswad,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Ronan,
Ituana,
Theoretical Girls,
Minor Threat,
Sonic Youth,
The Slits,
Outsiders,
Pussy Galore,
Con Funk Shun,
Pole, Pole, Pole, Pole.
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.