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 Iran and from Lagos.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide 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 1968 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lyon 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 1984 at the first Arcadia practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the mellotron 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 Man Parrish to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Dorothy Ashby. All the underground hits.
All Sonic Youth tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Niagra record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Cabaret Voltaire record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Tropical Tobacco,
Mission of Burma,
Black Pus,
Vladislav Delay,
The Human League,
Juan Atkins,
Thee Headcoats,
Yazoo,
Tres Demented,
Lungfish,
Symarip,
Byron Stingily,
Sam Rivers,
H. Thieme,
Steve Hackett,
Average White Band,
Goldenarms,
The Wake,
Black Bananas,
The Tremeloes,
Brass Construction,
Althea and Donna,
Simply Red,
Hasil Adkins,
Parry Music,
B.T. Express,
Con Funk Shun,
X-Ray Spex,
Pantaleimon,
Pagans,
Cecil Taylor,
The Dead C,
Can,
Letta Mbulu,
The Fire Engines,
Tommy Roe,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Au Pairs,
World's Most,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Crispy Ambulance,
Fad Gadget,
The Slits,
The Toasters,
The Buckinghams,
Supertramp,
John Coltrane,
Matthew Bourne,
Harmonia,
Donny Hathaway,
The Velvet Underground,
The United States of America,
EPMD,
Davy DMX,
Amazonics,
Curtis Mayfield,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
The Cowsills, The Cowsills, The Cowsills, The Cowsills.
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.