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 Cuba and from Bremen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle show in London.
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 1963 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Manila.
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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Khruangbin to the grime kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Royal Family And The Poor. All the underground hits.
All Brick tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every La Düsseldorf 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Marshall Jefferson record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sandy B,
Judy Mowatt,
Kas Product,
Anthony Braxton,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Glenn Branca,
Arthur Verocai,
Marshall Jefferson,
Funky Four + One,
The Leaves,
Animal Collective,
Gil Scott Heron,
JFA,
The Saints,
Eric B and Rakim,
U.S. Maple,
Iggy Pop,
Minny Pops,
The Black Dice,
Lalo Schifrin,
Inner City,
the Sonics,
Fear,
Deakin,
MDC,
John Foxx,
Joey Negro,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Skaos,
Hardrive,
Charles Mingus,
Eric Copeland,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Mo-Dettes,
Dawn Penn,
The Gladiators,
The Selecter,
David Bowie,
Trumans Water,
Moss Icon,
Byron Stingily,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Mantronix,
the Association,
The Dave Clark Five,
The Fire Engines,
Dual Sessions,
Livin' Joy,
Marc Almond,
Goldenarms,
Morten Harket,
Roger Hodgson,
Faust,
Eric Dolphy,
Oblivians,
Theoretical Girls,
Procol Harum,
Bronski Beat,
Loose Ends,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Marmalade,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
New Age Steppers,
Bill Near, Bill Near, Bill Near, Bill Near.
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.