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 Rwanda and from Lagos.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1968 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Lille.
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 1978 at the first Visage practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the güiro sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Cramps to the crunk 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 Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam. All the underground hits.
All Gastr Del Sol tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every PIL record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 marimba and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Adolescents record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Gerry Rafferty,
AZ,
Robert Wyatt,
The Last Poets,
Bobby Sherman,
Marcia Griffiths,
The Moody Blues,
Jacob Miller,
Big Daddy Kane,
Chrome,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
David Bowie,
The Gories,
Lebanon Hanover,
Flipper,
Barclay James Harvest,
Rotary Connection,
Accadde A,
John Cale,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
The Durutti Column,
H. Thieme,
Wolf Eyes,
Can,
The Sound,
Kool Moe Dee,
Throbbing Gristle,
Second Layer,
Lindisfarne,
Lalann,
Eve St. Jones,
Faraquet,
Ludus,
Dennis Brown,
Young Marble Giants,
Moebius,
Rod Modell,
Hot Snakes,
Joe Finger,
Alphaville,
Scott Walker,
Davy DMX,
Bill Wells,
Pussy Galore,
Jandek,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Interpol,
Rapeman,
Subhumans,
Mars,
Bush Tetras,
the Normal,
UT,
Bobby Womack,
Harry Pussy,
Graham Central Station,
Robert Görl,
Cheater Slicks,
Glambeats Corp.,
Swans, Swans, Swans, Swans.
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.