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 Bangladesh and from New York.
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 1966 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Manila.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Winnipeg 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 1971 at the first Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Thinking Fellers Union Local 282 to the techno 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 Crispian St. Peters. All the underground hits.
All Carl Craig tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Birthday Party record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock 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 guitar and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a MDC record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
48th St. Collective,
The Toasters,
Scion,
Andrew Hill,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
The Divine Comedy,
Joe Smooth,
Derrick May,
Surgeon,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Glenn Branca,
Rotary Connection,
Public Image Ltd.,
The Modern Lovers,
The Saints,
Albert Ayler,
Warsaw,
The Golliwogs,
Nils Olav,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Tropical Tobacco,
New Age Steppers,
Ossler,
Gabor Szabo,
Lebanon Hanover,
Fear,
The Offenders,
Monks,
Visionaries,LMNO, T- Love & Iriscience,
Public Enemy,
John Foxx,
Curtis Mayfield,
Jesper Dahlback,
Lakeside,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
The Victims,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Vladislav Delay,
Rekid,
The Durutti Column,
Joy Division,
The Doobie Brothers,
Alphaville,
Oneida,
John Cale,
Janne Schatter,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Man Eating Sloth,
Terrestrial Tones,
Silicon Teens,
Jawbox,
Barclay James Harvest,
Donald Byrd,
Gil Scott Heron,
The Angels of Light,
Visage,
Charles Mingus,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Cameo,
Interpol,
Heaven 17,
Sunsets and Hearts, Sunsets and Hearts, Sunsets and Hearts, Sunsets and Hearts.
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.