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 Marshall Islands and from Winnipeg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Zapp show in Hamilton.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lagos 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 arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Bizarre Inc. to the crunk kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Joy Division. All the underground hits.
All Dead Boys tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Interpol record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz 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 güiro and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mr. Review record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Gabor Szabo,
Angry Samoans,
Joy Division,
Jeru the Damaja,
Thompson Twins,
Peter and Kerry,
The Barracudas,
Freddie Wadling,
Dark Day,
Letta Mbulu,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Ohio Players,
Japan,
R.M.O.,
Ronnie Foster,
Amon Düül,
Drive Like Jehu,
Althea and Donna,
Motorama,
JFA,
Lou Reed,
Albert Ayler,
Black Pus,
48th St. Collective,
Lightning Bolt,
Khruangbin,
Amon Düül II,
Cal Tjader,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Eric Dolphy,
Moebius,
Underground Resistance,
Big Daddy Kane,
Black Bananas,
Bad Manners,
Desert Stars,
The Fall,
Circle Jerks,
H. Thieme,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Main Source,
Can,
La Düsseldorf,
The Saints,
Soft Cell,
The Flesh Eaters,
Nation of Ulysses,
Eric B and Rakim,
The Gories,
Skaos,
Throbbing Gristle,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
ABBA,
Nirvana,
Graham Central Station,
Eric Copeland,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Max Romeo,
Liliput,
Sun City Girls,
Television,
The Fortunes,
The Golliwogs, The Golliwogs, The Golliwogs, The Golliwogs.
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.