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 Montenegro and from Tehran.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle show in London.
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 1961 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Spokane.
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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Marshall Jefferson to the grunge 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 The Golliwogs. All the underground hits.
All The Saints tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Half Japanese record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime 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 snare and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Last Poets record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Smoke,
Ludus,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
The Black Dice,
Man Parrish,
The Skatalites,
The Durutti Column,
The Selecter,
New Order,
Pagans,
DJ Style,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Skarface,
Glambeats Corp.,
DNA,
kango's stein massive,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Kool Moe Dee,
Al Stewart,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Bad Manners,
A Certain Ratio,
Simply Red,
Girls At Our Best!,
H. Thieme,
Pylon,
The Index,
Whodini,
La Düsseldorf,
Aswad,
Monolake,
The Litter,
The Leaves,
The Fire Engines,
Robert Hood,
Pierre Henry,
Unrelated Segments,
Interpol,
Jeff Mills,
The Slits,
Byron Stingily,
ABBA,
Smog,
Warsaw,
Marc Almond,
X-Ray Spex,
Oneida,
Eddi Front,
Dennis Brown,
The Young Rascals,
Lungfish,
Curtis Mayfield,
Stockholm Monsters,
Eve St. Jones,
Ossler,
Pet Shop Boys,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Barbara Tucker,
Aural Exciters,
Delon & Dalcan,
The Mummies,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Blossom Toes, Blossom Toes, Blossom Toes, Blossom Toes.
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.