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 Kazakhstan and from Lille.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic 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 1967 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Calgary.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Winnipeg 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 marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Oneida to the techno 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 Model 500. All the underground hits.
All U.S. Maple tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Surgeon 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Talk Talk record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Henry Cow,
Average White Band,
Piero Umiliani,
Sun Ra,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
David Bowie,
The Mojo Men,
Junior Murvin,
The Blues Magoos,
Mandrill,
Ituana,
Yazoo,
Deepchord,
Curtis Mayfield,
LL Cool J,
The Busters,
The Gories,
Cymande,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Saccharine Trust,
Sparks,
Amon Düül,
Accadde A,
Connie Case,
Drive Like Jehu,
Grey Daturas,
Arthur Verocai,
Eurythmics,
The Pretty Things,
Rekid,
The Tremeloes,
Mary Jane Girls,
Monks,
Ossler,
Eric B and Rakim,
Bootsy Collins,
Tom Boy,
Bob Dylan,
Gerry Rafferty,
Janne Schatter,
Ronan,
Kerri Chandler,
The Buckinghams,
Neil Young,
Oneida,
Outsiders,
The Cramps,
Vainqueur,
Fluxion,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Fear,
Bauhaus,
Procol Harum,
Make Up,
The Raincoats,
Gang Green,
It's A Beautiful Day,
James Chance & The Contortions,
the Swans,
Sad Lovers and Giants, Sad Lovers and Giants, Sad Lovers and Giants, Sad Lovers and Giants.
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.