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 Guinea-Bissau and from Lille.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 1984 at the first Arcadia practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the oboe 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 KRS-One to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Jimmy McGriff. All the underground hits.
All James Chance & The Contortions tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Mr. Review record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash 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 harpsichord and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Ornette Coleman record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
London Community Gospel Choir,
Oblivians,
Eddi Front,
Flipper,
Shoche,
The Music Machine,
Young Marble Giants,
Desert Stars,
Morten Harket,
Adolescents,
Chrome,
Jeru the Damaja,
The Gun Club,
LL Cool J,
Newcleus,
Scion,
Drexciya,
The Alarm Clocks,
Fluxion,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
The Martian,
A Flock of Seagulls,
X-102,
Ultravox,
Johnny Clarke,
The Beau Brummels,
Glambeats Corp.,
Glenn Branca,
Lightning Bolt,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Nation of Ulysses,
The Searchers,
Pylon,
Arab on Radar,
the Germs,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Byron Stingily,
Sparks,
Ponytail,
The Smoke,
The Cure,
Intrusion,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Fear,
La Düsseldorf,
Rufus Thomas,
Grandmaster Flash,
Mad Mike,
Skriet,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Stiv Bators,
Barry Ungar,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Hasil Adkins,
Sexual Harrassment,
Eric Dolphy,
Blossom Toes,
Henry Cow, Henry Cow, Henry Cow, Henry Cow.
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.