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 Ghana and from Copenhagen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle 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 1963 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Spokane.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 The Saints to the techno kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Mission of Burma. All the underground hits.
All The Motions tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Doobie Brothers record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk 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 a linndrum and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Monks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Laurel Aitken,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Shoche,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Glambeats Corp.,
Pole,
The Misunderstood,
Nick Fraelich,
Black Pus,
Henry Cow,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Crash Course in Science,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Hot Snakes,
Alice Coltrane,
Gastr Del Sol,
Visage,
Andrew Hill,
The Slits,
Mad Mike,
The Five Americans,
John Coltrane,
UT,
John Foxx,
PIL,
Man Eating Sloth,
Boz Scaggs,
James White and The Blacks,
Steve Hackett,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Clear Light,
Sun Ra,
The Invisible,
Charles Mingus,
Jeru the Damaja,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Minor Threat,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Goldenarms,
Swans,
Half Japanese,
The Index,
Funkadelic,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Symarip,
Rufus Thomas,
The Doobie Brothers,
Sparks,
Warren Ellis,
Yellowson,
Ohio Players,
The Gladiators,
Moss Icon,
Smog,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Gregory Isaacs,
Kas Product,
Pussy Galore,
Amazonics,
Bobby Sherman, Bobby Sherman, Bobby Sherman, Bobby Sherman.
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.