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 Oman and from Lille.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television 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 1966 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tokyo and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 David Bowie 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 Johnny Clarke 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 Gang Green. All the underground hits.
All B.T. Express tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Country Teasers record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Rhythm & Sound record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Blancmange,
The Cure,
Eddi Front,
Yellowson,
Black Pus,
Arthur Verocai,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Make Up,
Al Stewart,
Lyres,
The Modern Lovers,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Lower 48,
Black Moon,
The Leaves,
Ronan,
Reagan Youth,
Blake Baxter,
Sight & Sound,
Public Enemy,
Ultimate Spinach,
The Monochrome Set,
Henry Cow,
Harry Pussy,
Gang Green,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
The Cowsills,
Mantronix,
Janne Schatter,
the Bar-Kays,
Spoonie Gee,
Slave,
Rapeman,
Marcia Griffiths,
Sun Ra,
Monolake,
Albert Ayler,
The Sonics,
Dennis Brown,
The United States of America,
the Germs,
Cluster,
Au Pairs,
Jacques Brel,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Electric Prunes,
Bobby Sherman,
the Normal,
Oblivians,
Idris Muhammad,
Blossom Toes,
Stiv Bators,
New Age Steppers,
Dorothy Ashby,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Pagans,
Wally Richardson,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
PIL,
Erykah Badu,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Cal Tjader, Cal Tjader, Cal Tjader, Cal Tjader.
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.