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 Namibia and from Lyon.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Zapp show in Hamilton.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Taipei.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Rhythm & Sound to the dance 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 Throbbing Gristle. All the underground hits.
All Bill Near tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every A Flock of Seagulls record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Prince Buster record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
T.S.O.L.,
Jeff Lynne,
Goldenarms,
Sun City Girls,
The Fall,
The Slits,
The Standells,
Shoche,
Silicon Teens,
Sun Ra,
Robert Hood,
Half Japanese,
Erykah Badu,
Cluster,
Brick,
Public Image Ltd.,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
K-Klass,
Brass Construction,
Slick Rick,
Loose Ends,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Gichy Dan,
Banda Bassotti,
Nirvana,
Neu!,
cv313,
Eurythmics,
Kas Product,
Radio Birdman,
Man Eating Sloth,
Harpers Bizarre,
Audionom,
Kevin Saunderson,
Skarface,
Depeche Mode,
The Gladiators,
Connie Case,
The Beau Brummels,
The New Christs,
Kurtis Blow,
Joensuu 1685,
Reuben Wilson,
Royal Trux,
Spandau Ballet,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Dorothy Ashby,
Eric B and Rakim,
Joey Negro,
the Normal,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Scientists,
Can,
Gerry Rafferty,
Underground Resistance,
Wally Richardson,
Negative Approach,
Marmalade,
Drexciya,
In Retrospect,
Todd Rundgren, Todd Rundgren, Todd Rundgren, Todd Rundgren.
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.