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 Denmark and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Josef K show in Edinburgh.
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 Hong Kong and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lyon 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 Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the snare 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 Young Rascals to the dance kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Crispy Ambulance. All the underground hits.
All Eden Ahbez tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Dirtbombs record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Howard Jones,
The Alarm Clocks,
Chris Corsano,
David McCallum,
Ten City,
The Knickerbockers,
Oneida,
Bizarre Inc.,
The Velvet Underground,
Rites of Spring,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Unrelated Segments,
Roxy Music,
James White and The Blacks,
Nico,
Graham Central Station,
The Remains,
Alice Coltrane,
F. McDonald,
June of 44,
Royal Trux,
The Mojo Men,
The Index,
John Foxx,
Cluster,
Make Up,
Marine Girls,
Kurtis Blow,
The Zeros,
Idris Muhammad,
Outsiders,
New York Dolls,
Soulsonic Force,
ABC,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Drexciya,
The Sound,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Tears for Fears,
Public Image Ltd.,
The Gap Band,
Gang Starr,
Television Personalities,
Minutemen,
Eden Ahbez,
Aural Exciters,
DNA,
Tubeway Army,
Talk Talk,
Depeche Mode,
David Bowie,
Freddie Wadling,
Mary Jane Girls,
The Fire Engines,
Grey Daturas,
Monks,
the Soft Cell,
The Black Dice,
Scott Walker,
Porter Ricks, Porter Ricks, Porter Ricks, Porter Ricks.
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.