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 Monaco and from Bologna.
But I was there.
I was there in 1978.
I was there at the first Visage 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 1968 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Slits to the dance 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 Jeru the Damaja. All the underground hits.
All Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Black Pus record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 mellotron and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Red Krayola record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
U.S. Maple,
The Slits,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Gabor Szabo,
Inner City,
Royal Trux,
The Gladiators,
The Black Dice,
Maleditus Sound,
Bronski Beat,
The Modern Lovers,
The Moody Blues,
Crispian St. Peters,
Harmonia,
Arthur Verocai,
Sound Behaviour,
Isaac Hayes,
Sister Nancy,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
The Martian,
Kerrie Biddell,
Terry Callier,
Jandek,
Amazonics,
EPMD,
Blossom Toes,
Aswad,
Joe Finger,
Kool Moe Dee,
Rotary Connection,
Lou Christie,
Ossler,
Hot Snakes,
Joe Smooth,
Aaron Thompson,
Mad Mike,
Funkadelic,
Judy Mowatt,
Minny Pops,
Joey Negro,
Robert Hood,
Charles Mingus,
Neil Young,
Crispy Ambulance,
Little Man,
Kenny Larkin,
Reuben Wilson,
Yaz,
Marc Almond,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Tom Boy,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Leonard Cohen,
Blake Baxter,
Jesper Dahlback,
Alison Limerick,
Scratch Acid,
Donald Byrd,
Pagans, Pagans, Pagans, Pagans.
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.