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 Tunisia and from Johannesburg.
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 1961 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Halifax.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 sitar 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 Rapeman to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Standells. All the underground hits.
All David Bowie tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Country Joe & The Fish 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Cymande record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Modern Lovers,
Thee Headcoats,
Marc Almond,
Maleditus Sound,
Fluxion,
James White and The Blacks,
Ronan,
Michelle Simonal,
OOIOO,
Technova,
Sällskapet,
The Wake,
Freddie Wadling,
Monolake,
Swell Maps,
Sister Nancy,
Wings,
Kerrie Biddell,
Country Teasers,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Pere Ubu,
Anthony Braxton,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Gastr Del Sol,
the Association,
Glenn Branca,
Fat Boys,
The Barracudas,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Mr. Review,
Outsiders,
Porter Ricks,
Young Marble Giants,
The Standells,
The Smoke,
LL Cool J,
Harmonia,
Bobby Sherman,
Bronski Beat,
Bill Wells,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Circle Jerks,
The Gories,
Skarface,
Mary Jane Girls,
Buzzcocks,
Arab on Radar,
B.T. Express,
John Foxx,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
The Golliwogs,
Lee Hazlewood,
Harry Pussy,
Charles Mingus,
Soft Cell,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Gong,
Rosa Yemen,
Dave Gahan,
Visionaries,LMNO, T- Love & Iriscience,
Sam Rivers,
DJ Style,
The Last Poets, The Last Poets, The Last Poets, The Last Poets.
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.