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 Liechtenstein and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1980.
I was there at the first Cybotron show in Detroit.
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 1969 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and Madrid.
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 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the theremin 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 Boogie Down Productions to the rock kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Nation of Ulysses. All the underground hits.
All The Busters tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Smoke 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 '50s 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 The Electric Prunes record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ultra Naté,
Lower 48,
Slick Rick,
Monolake,
Pantaleimon,
Tears for Fears,
Ultravox,
The Remains,
Marmalade,
Zapp,
Robert Görl,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Josef K,
John Foxx,
Organ,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
The Barracudas,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
World's Most,
Michelle Simonal,
Section 25,
The Index,
The Human League,
CMW,
Graham Central Station,
Slave,
Throbbing Gristle,
In Retrospect,
New York Dolls,
Alice Coltrane,
Swans,
The New Christs,
The Last Poets,
Unwound,
Bill Wells,
Flamin' Groovies,
Bad Manners,
Tropical Tobacco,
The Angels of Light,
The Alarm Clocks,
Lyres,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Agitation Free,
Bauhaus,
Thompson Twins,
Camouflage,
the Human League,
Frankie Knuckles,
Tom Boy,
Absolute Body Control,
Deadbeat,
Depeche Mode,
Radio Birdman,
DJ Style,
Pere Ubu,
Procol Harum,
A Certain Ratio,
Ornette Coleman,
Siglo XX,
Underground Resistance,
Archie Shepp,
Lungfish,
Albert Ayler, Albert Ayler, Albert Ayler, Albert Ayler.
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.