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 Senegal and from Calgary.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic 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 1968 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 rhodes 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 Sexual Harrassment to the techno kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade. All the underground hits.
All The Barracudas tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Essential Logic 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Grauzone record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Fuzztones,
Harry Pussy,
Nico,
Whodini,
Quando Quango,
Ultra Naté,
Bang On A Can,
Au Pairs,
Darondo,
Amon Düül II,
T.S.O.L.,
Laurel Aitken,
The Fall,
New Order,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Agitation Free,
The Music Machine,
Neu!,
Barry Ungar,
Bobby Womack,
X-Ray Spex,
Deakin,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Nirvana,
The Litter,
Saccharine Trust,
The Victims,
T. Rex,
Drexciya,
Erasure,
Organ,
Letta Mbulu,
Urselle,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Index,
Stockholm Monsters,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Erykah Badu,
Funkadelic,
Sugar Minott,
London Community Gospel Choir,
New Age Steppers,
Desert Stars,
Robert Wyatt,
Fear,
The Misunderstood,
Niagra,
K-Klass,
Brick,
Flamin' Groovies,
Crispy Ambulance,
Oblivians,
The Techniques,
The Durutti Column,
Tears for Fears,
Little Man,
Eric Dolphy,
Junior Murvin,
Wasted Youth,
Vainqueur,
Carl Craig, Carl Craig, Carl Craig, Carl Craig.
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.