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 Afghanistan and from Delhi.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic 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 1962 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Manila.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Hong Kong 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 1983 at the first Lewis practice in a loft in Vancouver.
I was working on the chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Throbbing Gristle to the dance 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 R.M.O.. All the underground hits.
All Donald Byrd tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Echo & the Bunnymen 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Bobby Hutcherson record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Brothers Johnson,
Porter Ricks,
Robert Wyatt,
James White and The Blacks,
Sex Pistols,
Ohio Players,
X-Ray Spex,
Hardrive,
Henry Cow,
Joensuu 1685,
Stiv Bators,
Visage,
The Barracudas,
Eddi Front,
Animal Collective,
Pole,
Drexciya,
Don Cherry,
The Pretty Things,
Dark Day,
Peter & Gordon,
Slick Rick,
Franke,
Judy Mowatt,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Cymande,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Thee Headcoats,
The Count Five,
Sonic Youth,
The Knickerbockers,
London Community Gospel Choir,
The Offenders,
Aural Exciters,
Das Ding,
The Durutti Column,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Bang On A Can,
Faust,
Harmonia,
The Tremeloes,
The Move,
Royal Trux,
The Blues Magoos,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Man Parrish,
Niagra,
The Dave Clark Five,
Oneida,
Pere Ubu,
Siglo XX,
Blancmange,
Neu!,
Quando Quango,
DJ Sneak,
Talk Talk,
Lightning Bolt,
Excepter,
Qualms,
Neil Young,
Lou Reed,
Joey Negro, Joey Negro, Joey Negro, Joey Negro.
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.