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 Barbados and from Manchester.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1968 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Seoul and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 clarinet 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 Morten Harket to the techno kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 The Pretty Things. All the underground hits.
All Sugar Minott tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Velvet Underground record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Teenage Jesus and the Jerks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Surgeon,
The Litter,
Monks,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Pharoah Sanders,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
K-Klass,
The Motions,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Excepter,
The Five Americans,
Sonny Sharrock,
Negative Approach,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Goldenarms,
The Real Kids,
Bush Tetras,
Country Joe & The Fish,
EPMD,
The Slits,
Darondo,
Magma,
Arthur Verocai,
H. Thieme,
Gang Starr,
Roger Hodgson,
Spoonie Gee,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Patti Smith,
Man Eating Sloth,
Connie Case,
Eden Ahbez,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Soft Cell,
Mo-Dettes,
Outsiders,
Reagan Youth,
Ludus,
Neu!,
Susan Cadogan,
Juan Atkins,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Tres Demented,
Al Stewart,
Oneida,
The Detroit Cobras,
Peter & Gordon,
Eric B and Rakim,
Deepchord,
The Happenings,
Clear Light,
The Count Five,
John Foxx,
Sex Pistols,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Bobby Sherman,
Pantaleimon,
Frankie Knuckles,
Black Flag,
Sound Behaviour, Sound Behaviour, Sound Behaviour, Sound Behaviour.
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.