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 Netherlands and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 arpeggiator 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 Arab on Radar to the rap kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Banda Bassotti. All the underground hits.
All Howard Jones tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every James Chance & The Contortions record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Wasted Youth record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Tommy Roe,
B.T. Express,
The Smiths,
Tears for Fears,
The Sound,
Marmalade,
Judy Mowatt,
the Association,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
The Moody Blues,
Anakelly,
Nation of Ulysses,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
These Immortal Souls,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Livin' Joy,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Lightning Bolt,
Roxy Music,
Kool Moe Dee,
The Invisible,
Electric Prunes,
Radiohead,
Erasure,
Index,
The Fortunes,
Gerry Rafferty,
Fela Kuti,
June Days,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Cheater Slicks,
Pere Ubu,
Black Pus,
Lee Hazlewood,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Main Source,
The Black Dice,
Cybotron,
Davy DMX,
a-ha,
Vainqueur,
The Real Kids,
The Wake,
Wolf Eyes,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Patti Smith,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Reagan Youth,
Gabor Szabo,
Steve Hackett,
R.M.O.,
The Saints,
The Cure,
Laurel Aitken,
Johnny Osbourne,
Freddie Wadling,
Funky Four + One,
Andrew Hill,
Rekid,
Kaleidoscope,
Throbbing Gristle,
Altered Images,
Quando Quango,
Absolute Body Control, Absolute Body Control, Absolute Body Control, Absolute Body Control.
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.