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 Zimbabwe and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide 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 1969 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lille and Lagos.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the synthesizer 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 Chrome to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Harpers Bizarre. All the underground hits.
All Angels of Light & Akron/Family tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every X-Ray Spex 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Curtis Mayfield record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bobby Byrd,
Pagans,
Eden Ahbez,
The Vogues,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Derrick May,
48th St. Collective,
Soft Cell,
cv313,
Qualms,
The Human League,
Duran Duran,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Mad Mike,
Radiopuhelimet,
Lou Reed,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
The Busters,
the Soft Cell,
Kerri Chandler,
Danielle Patucci,
Cheater Slicks,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Monks,
Juan Atkins,
The Toasters,
Theoretical Girls,
D'Angelo,
Stereo Dub,
Sun City Girls,
Blancmange,
Mary Jane Girls,
John Cale,
Desert Stars,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Banda Bassotti,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Frankie Knuckles,
Circle Jerks,
Inner City,
The Techniques,
The Leaves,
Kenny Larkin,
The Motions,
Masters at Work,
Chris & Cosey,
Judy Mowatt,
Tomorrow,
La Düsseldorf,
Bush Tetras,
Rapeman,
Procol Harum,
Soft Machine,
Flamin' Groovies,
Los Fastidios,
Maleditus Sound,
Cluster,
Jimmy McGriff,
Donald Byrd,
Rites of Spring,
Outsiders,
The Associates,
Faraquet,
Darondo, Darondo, Darondo, Darondo.
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.