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 Portugal and from Columbus.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Seoul.
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 1987 at the first Nirvana practice in a loft in Seattle.
I was working on the sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Chris Corsano to the dance kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Loose Ends. All the underground hits.
All Rahsaan Roland Kirk tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Jeru the Damaja 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Charles Mingus record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Chrome,
X-101,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Agent Orange,
Ituana,
Sexual Harrassment,
Ronnie Foster,
Fatback Band,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
8 Eyed Spy,
Duran Duran,
The Moody Blues,
Mission of Burma,
Curtis Mayfield,
Michelle Simonal,
Nils Olav,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
the Slits,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Gastr Del Sol,
Rhythm & Sound,
Idris Muhammad,
Piero Umiliani,
Morten Harket,
the Fania All-Stars,
Eve St. Jones,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Goldenarms,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Glenn Branca,
Quantec,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Neu!,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
The Martian,
Vladislav Delay,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Visage,
Alison Limerick,
Brand Nubian,
The Real Kids,
Con Funk Shun,
The Blues Magoos,
Black Moon,
Grandmaster Flash,
Byron Stingily,
Bauhaus,
Scan 7,
the Normal,
The Fall,
Franke,
The Birthday Party,
Yusef Lateef,
Jeff Lynne,
Barbara Tucker,
Das Ding,
The J.B.'s,
The Skatalites,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Todd Rundgren,
T.S.O.L., T.S.O.L., T.S.O.L., T.S.O.L..
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.