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 Mongolia and from Tokyo.
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 1965 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Seoul.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school London 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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Donald Byrd to the dance kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Das Ding. All the underground hits.
All Ice-T tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Siouxsie and the Banshees record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 guitar and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mr. Review record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Buzzcocks,
The Flesh Eaters,
Quantec,
Dave Gahan,
Fugazi,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Siglo XX,
Niagra,
Q65,
Pet Shop Boys,
The Cowsills,
Stiv Bators,
Spandau Ballet,
Monks,
Chris Corsano,
Urselle,
Aaron Thompson,
Fad Gadget,
Shuggie Otis,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Nick Fraelich,
Fifty Foot Hose,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Crispian St. Peters,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Peter & Gordon,
Wolf Eyes,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Drexciya,
The Slits,
Peter and Kerry,
Jacob Miller,
The Sonics,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Cecil Taylor,
Connie Case,
Skarface,
Soul II Soul,
The Techniques,
Lindisfarne,
The Gories,
Pagans,
Easy Going,
Gil Scott Heron,
Amon Düül II,
David Bowie,
Young Marble Giants,
Arab on Radar,
the Swans,
Barry Ungar,
Radio Birdman,
Lou Reed,
Sam Rivers,
Bluetip,
Gregory Isaacs,
Sun City Girls,
David McCallum,
Danielle Patucci,
Moby Grape,
Stetsasonic,
Yusef Lateef,
Black Flag, Black Flag, Black Flag, Black Flag.
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.