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 Tunisia and from Philadelphia.
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 1964 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the güiro sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 F. McDonald to the rap 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 Sarah Menescal. All the underground hits.
All Crime tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Slave 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Marvin Gaye record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ludus,
Royal Trux,
Television,
The Stooges,
Byron Stingily,
These Immortal Souls,
John Holt,
Scientists,
Marine Girls,
Marcia Griffiths,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Suicide,
Cameo,
Ice-T,
New Age Steppers,
The Doors,
Derrick May,
Johnny Clarke,
John Foxx,
Joy Division,
DJ Sneak,
Echospace,
Jawbox,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Wings,
Flamin' Groovies,
the Slits,
Newcleus,
Average White Band,
UT,
Josef K,
Scion,
Vladislav Delay,
David McCallum,
Model 500,
Brick,
Al Stewart,
In Retrospect,
Groovy Waters,
Talk Talk,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
The Seeds,
The Five Americans,
Mary Jane Girls,
Hot Snakes,
Henry Cow,
Tears for Fears,
Khruangbin,
Harry Pussy,
Jerry's Kids,
Jeru the Damaja,
Warsaw,
Bootsy Collins,
Quadrant,
Eric Copeland,
Camouflage,
Pylon,
James White and The Blacks,
AZ,
Deepchord,
The Electric Prunes,
The Smiths,
Lou Reed, Lou Reed, Lou Reed, Lou Reed.
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.