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 Korea South and from Winnipeg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Houston and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Magazine to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Carl Craig. All the underground hits.
All Essential Logic tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Terror Squad Feat. Camron 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 harpsichord and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Oppenheimer Analysis record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ten City,
Gil Scott Heron,
Ice-T,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Be Bop Deluxe,
The New Christs,
Derrick Morgan,
Tubeway Army,
Swell Maps,
Amon Düül,
Fat Boys,
The Barracudas,
Pussy Galore,
R.M.O.,
Johnny Clarke,
the Swans,
Desert Stars,
Hardrive,
Accadde A,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Cecil Taylor,
Connie Case,
Kurtis Blow,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Eric Dolphy,
Traffic Nightmare,
Patti Smith,
The Gladiators,
Silicon Teens,
Piero Umiliani,
Mr. Review,
Kenny Larkin,
Brick,
Lindisfarne,
Glenn Branca,
Mandrill,
Unrelated Segments,
Stockholm Monsters,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Dark Day,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Goldenarms,
Essential Logic,
Hot Snakes,
Barrington Levy,
Charles Mingus,
Q and Not U,
Duran Duran,
Warren Ellis,
Little Man,
Malaria!,
The Seeds,
Eddi Front,
Rotary Connection,
Bob Dylan,
the Normal,
The Offenders,
Marvin Gaye,
Make Up,
The Litter,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Hashim, Hashim, Hashim, Hashim.
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.