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 Burkina and from Sao Paulo.
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 1960 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the güiro sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Throbbing Gristle to the crunk kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Bauhaus. All the underground hits.
All The Young Rascals tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Suicide 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a John Coltrane record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Stiv Bators,
Harpers Bizarre,
Tomorrow,
Dark Day,
Graham Central Station,
Glenn Branca,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Pierre Henry,
Gichy Dan,
The Busters,
Flipper,
Lalann,
The Durutti Column,
Royal Trux,
Howard Jones,
Eric B and Rakim,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Desert Stars,
Robert Wyatt,
June Days,
Moby Grape,
Heaven 17,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Morten Harket,
Rites of Spring,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Don Cherry,
Traffic Nightmare,
Mission of Burma,
Wally Richardson,
Little Man,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Sparks,
The Pretty Things,
Crime,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Ituana,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Thee Headcoats,
Ultravox,
Slick Rick,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Lakeside,
Curtis Mayfield,
Spoonie Gee,
Pere Ubu,
Henry Cow,
The Index,
Negative Approach,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Icehouse,
The Searchers,
Infiniti,
Marc Almond,
The Monks,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Matthew Bourne,
The Litter,
Todd Rundgren,
Fluxion,
Mary Jane Girls,
Theoretical Girls, Theoretical Girls, Theoretical Girls, Theoretical Girls.
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.