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 Vietnam and from Lagos.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Tokyo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the spring reverb 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 Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx to the rap 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 Moebius. All the underground hits.
All Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every David Axelrod record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Bush Tetras record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Cowsills,
Yusef Lateef,
Eric Dolphy,
Brothers Johnson,
the Soft Cell,
Minutemen,
KRS-One,
Whodini,
Procol Harum,
Yazoo,
Scion,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Saccharine Trust,
Fat Boys,
Amon Düül,
Deadbeat,
The Cramps,
Todd Terry,
Wasted Youth,
The Skatalites,
Fatback Band,
Gang Starr,
Albert Ayler,
Cybotron,
Minny Pops,
The Moody Blues,
The Fortunes,
Sandy B,
Faust,
The Alarm Clocks,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
The Martian,
The Five Americans,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Funkadelic,
Magazine,
Qualms,
The Standells,
PIL,
X-102,
Jerry's Kids,
The Saints,
Vladislav Delay,
Deakin,
Robert Hood,
Althea and Donna,
The Flesh Eaters,
Chris & Cosey,
Loose Ends,
Hoover,
Bootsy Collins,
The Slits,
Bizarre Inc.,
Reuben Wilson,
Glambeats Corp.,
Harpers Bizarre,
Bush Tetras,
Maurizio,
Throbbing Gristle,
Liaisons Dangereuses, Liaisons Dangereuses, Liaisons Dangereuses, Liaisons Dangereuses.
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.