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 Nepal and from Bologna.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Manchester.
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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the 808 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 The Tremeloes to the dance 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 Five Americans. All the underground hits.
All Bang On A Can tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Arthur Verocai record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Birthday Party record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Fear,
Mandrill,
Eric Dolphy,
John Foxx,
Bush Tetras,
Pole,
Slave,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Agent Orange,
Half Japanese,
Roxette,
The Music Machine,
World's Most,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Traffic Nightmare,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
EPMD,
Sparks,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Eve St. Jones,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Erykah Badu,
The Angels of Light,
Donny Hathaway,
Basic Channel,
Mad Mike,
the Human League,
Skaos,
Ronan,
The Dead C,
The Red Krayola,
Harmonia,
Colin Newman,
Joey Negro,
Pharoah Sanders,
Mars,
Oblivians,
The Slackers,
a-ha,
Young Marble Giants,
Underground Resistance,
Suburban Knight,
Radiohead,
T.S.O.L.,
Gong,
Crispian St. Peters,
Heaven 17,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Subhumans,
The New Christs,
Bob Dylan,
Kaleidoscope,
Matthew Bourne,
Infiniti,
James White and The Blacks,
B.T. Express,
Minutemen,
The Names,
Boz Scaggs,
Todd Terry,
Sonic Youth,
Wasted Youth, Wasted Youth, Wasted Youth, Wasted Youth.
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.