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 Ukraine and from Halifax.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1967 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 The Slits to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Ornette Coleman. All the underground hits.
All The Men They Couldn't Hang tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Junior Murvin 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a U.S. Maple record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Selecter,
Gil Scott Heron,
Guru Guru,
Amazonics,
Alison Limerick,
Black Sheep,
MC5,
Public Image Ltd.,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Fort Wilson Riot,
The Misunderstood,
Soulsonic Force,
The Gladiators,
The United States of America,
Marcia Griffiths,
DNA,
Roy Ayers,
Minutemen,
Yellowson,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Jeff Mills,
Ultra Naté,
Lalo Schifrin,
The Moody Blues,
The Fortunes,
China Crisis,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Bob Dylan,
Symarip,
Tom Boy,
Mars,
Camouflage,
June Days,
Donald Byrd,
Crispian St. Peters,
Cameo,
R.M.O.,
Morten Harket,
Hashim,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Suicide,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
D'Angelo,
Max Romeo,
Deakin,
Jeru the Damaja,
Scientists,
The Grass Roots,
Easy Going,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Juan Atkins,
Marine Girls,
Reuben Wilson,
Boredoms,
Black Moon,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Index, Index, Index, Index.
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.