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 Antigua and from Salvador.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television show in New York.
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 1960 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and Milan.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 mellotron 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 John Foxx to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Stetsasonic. All the underground hits.
All Blancmange tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 snare and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Fear record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bush Tetras,
The Knickerbockers,
The Cure,
Yaz,
Delon & Dalcan,
the Fania All-Stars,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Gong,
The Residents,
Hoover,
Gerry Rafferty,
Rapeman,
The Gladiators,
Bobby Byrd,
The Standells,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Big Daddy Kane,
Marvin Gaye,
R.M.O.,
Laurel Aitken,
the Swans,
Crash Course in Science,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Scrapy,
Urselle,
Davy DMX,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Fluxion,
The Remains,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Kerri Chandler,
Sound Behaviour,
Ultravox,
the Human League,
The Music Machine,
Basic Channel,
Ralphi Rosario,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Second Layer,
Scan 7,
Throbbing Gristle,
Pharoah Sanders,
The Names,
David Bowie,
Deadbeat,
Hot Snakes,
Bill Wells,
David Axelrod,
Joe Finger,
Archie Shepp,
Television,
Scion,
Soulsonic Force,
Byron Stingily,
Smog,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
F. McDonald,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Chrome,
Peter & Gordon,
Infiniti,
Thompson Twins, Thompson Twins, Thompson Twins, Thompson Twins.
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.