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 Kazakhstan and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1984.
I was there at the first Arcadia 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 1969 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lille and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mexico City 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Sparks to the electroclash 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 London Community Gospel Choir. All the underground hits.
All Donald Byrd tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Fad Gadget 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Ajijia Myrayebe record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Cabaret Voltaire,
The Offenders,
These Immortal Souls,
Cybotron,
the Fania All-Stars,
Ultravox,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
T.S.O.L.,
X-Ray Spex,
Big Daddy Kane,
Roxy Music,
Carl Craig,
Stiv Bators,
Archie Shepp,
Juan Atkins,
Amazonics,
Sonny Sharrock,
Johnny Clarke,
Marine Girls,
Motorama,
The Evens,
Alice Coltrane,
Schoolly D,
L. Decosne,
Kayak,
Gong,
Roy Ayers,
Oblivians,
Chris & Cosey,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Sarah Menescal,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
CMW,
Erykah Badu,
The Modern Lovers,
E-Dancer,
Josef K,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Crispy Ambulance,
The Doobie Brothers,
Excepter,
Fluxion,
T. Rex,
Don Cherry,
Bronski Beat,
Connie Case,
Basic Channel,
Donald Byrd,
Swans,
This Heat,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Godley & Creme,
Tomorrow,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Frankie Knuckles,
Reuben Wilson,
Sandy B,
Matthew Halsall,
Andrew Hill,
Pole,
Henry Cow, Henry Cow, Henry Cow, Henry Cow.
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.