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 Kosovo and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Seoul and Woodstock.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lyon 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 1983 at the first Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the clarinet 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 Bootsy's Rubber Band to the dance 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 Fear. All the underground hits.
All Ice-T tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Andrew Hill record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Mission of Burma,
Joy Division,
The Gories,
The Martian,
The Smoke,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Stereo Dub,
Smog,
Josef K,
Ralphi Rosario,
Fear,
Hot Snakes,
Procol Harum,
Organ,
D'Angelo,
Royal Trux,
10cc,
The Fugs,
Roxy Music,
Loose Ends,
Crispian St. Peters,
Stockholm Monsters,
Chris & Cosey,
The Moody Blues,
Harmonia,
The Slits,
Wire,
Accadde A,
The Cure,
Glenn Branca,
Kurtis Blow,
Derrick May,
Ultravox,
Bush Tetras,
Altered Images,
Roger Hodgson,
Niagra,
Ludus,
Duran Duran,
Juan Atkins,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Silicon Teens,
Eurythmics,
Laurel Aitken,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
The Real Kids,
Brand Nubian,
Urselle,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Malaria!,
Surgeon,
Hoover,
The Selecter,
Man Eating Sloth,
The Busters,
Make Up,
New York Dolls,
Tomorrow,
CMW,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Amazonics, Amazonics, Amazonics, Amazonics.
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.