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 Poland and from Glasgow.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television show in New York.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lille 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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the güiro sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Sly & The Family Stone to the disco 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 10cc. All the underground hits.
All Kerri Chandler tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Golliwogs record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Barracudas,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Susan Cadogan,
Rosa Yemen,
Andrew Hill,
Kerri Chandler,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Godley & Creme,
Desert Stars,
Glambeats Corp.,
CMW,
Tim Buckley,
Malaria!,
Alice Coltrane,
The Selecter,
Cecil Taylor,
Soft Machine,
the Germs,
The American Breed,
Warren Ellis,
Sister Nancy,
Bluetip,
Brothers Johnson,
The Dirtbombs,
Jimmy McGriff,
Black Flag,
Whodini,
Talk Talk,
Sun City Girls,
Brand Nubian,
the Swans,
Gil Scott Heron,
World's Most,
Motorama,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Duran Duran,
Alphaville,
The Happenings,
Bill Near,
The Invisible,
The Electric Prunes,
Eric B and Rakim,
Pharoah Sanders,
Arab on Radar,
Alison Limerick,
Gang Green,
T. Rex,
Television,
The Human League,
The Leaves,
The New Christs,
Matthew Bourne,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Lungfish,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Fluxion,
Mars,
Slave,
Amon Düül,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Sparks,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Glenn Branca, Glenn Branca, Glenn Branca, Glenn Branca.
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.