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 Swaziland and from Mumbai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle show in London.
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 1965 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Woodstock.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the snare 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 The Gladiators to the punk kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Khruangbin. All the underground hits.
All Donald Byrd tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Subhumans record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Techniques record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Isaac Hayes,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Pylon,
The American Breed,
Deepchord,
Michelle Simonal,
Gil Scott Heron,
Juan Atkins,
Harmonia,
Unwound,
The Dead C,
Mission of Burma,
June Days,
The Barracudas,
David McCallum,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Cymande,
Kayak,
The Remains,
Blossom Toes,
Khruangbin,
Make Up,
Cecil Taylor,
Main Source,
Maleditus Sound,
Jandek,
Dorothy Ashby,
Jawbox,
David Bowie,
Panda Bear,
The Golliwogs,
Derrick May,
Japan,
Aural Exciters,
Malaria!,
Sly & The Family Stone,
The Wake,
Patti Smith,
Country Teasers,
H. Thieme,
Agitation Free,
The Fugs,
David Axelrod,
Bronski Beat,
Yaz,
Terry Callier,
Black Sheep,
Tubeway Army,
Infiniti,
The Birthday Party,
Hot Snakes,
Brothers Johnson,
Reuben Wilson,
Alton Ellis,
Stiv Bators,
MDC,
Sam Rivers,
Yellowson,
T. Rex,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
The Moody Blues,
Sight & Sound,
Alphaville,
Sun Ra, Sun Ra, Sun Ra, Sun Ra.
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.