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 Suriname and from Salvador.
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 1964 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Milan and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 1978 at the first Visage practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Siouxsie and the Banshees to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 T. Rex. All the underground hits.
All Lalann tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Buzzcocks 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Stiv Bators record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Monks,
Royal Trux,
Severed Heads,
Throbbing Gristle,
Reuben Wilson,
Kevin Saunderson,
Josef K,
Country Teasers,
Marcia Griffiths,
Amon Düül II,
Echospace,
Lakeside,
the Bar-Kays,
UT,
Bush Tetras,
Ultra Naté,
Crispy Ambulance,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Jawbox,
Minutemen,
Albert Ayler,
Gregory Isaacs,
Nils Olav,
Minny Pops,
Pere Ubu,
Metal Thangz,
Radiohead,
Yusef Lateef,
Goldenarms,
Big Daddy Kane,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Faraquet,
Avey Tare,
Joy Division,
Oblivians,
Tres Demented,
Popol Vuh,
Ten City,
Ituana,
Subhumans,
Terry Callier,
Cluster,
Lindisfarne,
Gang Green,
Ossler,
the Human League,
Sex Pistols,
Bobby Byrd,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Wire,
Bad Manners,
Livin' Joy,
Maleditus Sound,
ABBA,
Wasted Youth,
John Coltrane,
Inner City,
Alice Coltrane,
Gang Starr,
Main Source, Main Source, Main Source, Main Source.
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.