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 Greece and from Madrid.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Art of Noise 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 1962 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and Glasgow.
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 1987 at the first Nirvana practice in a loft in Seattle.
I was working on the arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Fat Boys to the rock 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 The Pretty Things. All the underground hits.
All The Gun Club tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bootsy's Rubber Band 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Scott Walker + Sunn O))) record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Glenn Branca,
Marcia Griffiths,
Aloha Tigers,
Pagans,
Intrusion,
CMW,
Marc Almond,
Bang On A Can,
Radio Birdman,
Sandy B,
Reagan Youth,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Aaron Thompson,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Kerri Chandler,
Model 500,
Lalo Schifrin,
The Standells,
Avey Tare,
The Index,
Crooked Eye,
Japan,
Brick,
World's Most,
Pet Shop Boys,
The Misunderstood,
Easy Going,
Bronski Beat,
The Wake,
Interpol,
Marmalade,
Erykah Badu,
Eve St. Jones,
Stiv Bators,
Half Japanese,
Sarah Menescal,
New Age Steppers,
the Swans,
Altered Images,
The Fire Engines,
Boredoms,
June of 44,
Yaz,
Vainqueur,
Agent Orange,
Monks,
Los Fastidios,
Danielle Patucci,
The Dead C,
Ralphi Rosario,
Magma,
Derrick May,
The Fortunes,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Nik Kershaw,
Barclay James Harvest,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Brothers Johnson,
Brass Construction,
Camouflage,
Eurythmics,
Icehouse, Icehouse, Icehouse, Icehouse.
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.