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 Indonesia and from Jakarta.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez 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 1964 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Calgary and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Los Fastidios to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Patti Smith. All the underground hits.
All Fad Gadget tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every F. McDonald record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Cameo record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Agent Orange,
Thee Headcoats,
Lindisfarne,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
The Index,
Technova,
Vladislav Delay,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Reagan Youth,
The Monochrome Set,
Cameo,
Brass Construction,
Donald Byrd,
The Real Kids,
Marmalade,
The Saints,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Mantronix,
Black Flag,
X-101,
Dawn Penn,
kango's stein massive,
Eden Ahbez,
Ken Boothe,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Robert Wyatt,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Circle Jerks,
Unrelated Segments,
Newcleus,
Prince Buster,
Crooked Eye,
Kerri Chandler,
Urselle,
Lebanon Hanover,
Index,
Dark Day,
Alison Limerick,
48th St. Collective,
Sandy B,
Hot Snakes,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
The Music Machine,
Popol Vuh,
Duran Duran,
X-Ray Spex,
Los Fastidios,
Bob Dylan,
Peter & Gordon,
Section 25,
Pierre Henry,
the Germs,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Radiopuhelimet,
Minny Pops,
Eddi Front,
Nation of Ulysses,
The Standells,
Judy Mowatt,
The Fugs,
Joy Division,
Soulsonic Force, Soulsonic Force, Soulsonic Force, Soulsonic Force.
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.