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 Paraguay and from Lyon.
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 1965 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Portland.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school London 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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Bobby Sherman to the rap 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 The Detroit Cobras. All the underground hits.
All Eve St. Jones tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Porter Ricks 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Malaria! record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
X-Ray Spex,
cv313,
Mr. Review,
The Pretty Things,
Porter Ricks,
The Red Krayola,
Lungfish,
Can,
Subhumans,
Procol Harum,
Yaz,
Make Up,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Whodini,
The Blackbyrds,
Pylon,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Rufus Thomas,
Arab on Radar,
Frankie Knuckles,
Monks,
Minnie Riperton,
Von Mondo,
The Sound,
Newcleus,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Sun Ra,
Camberwell Now,
Amazonics,
N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell,
8 Eyed Spy,
Joy Division,
World's Most,
Y Pants,
Schoolly D,
The Birthday Party,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Nation of Ulysses,
Lalann,
Wings,
Ultravox,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Bob Dylan,
Half Japanese,
Sam Rivers,
AZ,
Monolake,
Siglo XX,
Mission of Burma,
The Count Five,
Surgeon,
Morten Harket,
Boogie Down Productions,
The Music Machine,
Darondo,
Man Eating Sloth,
Jandek,
The Moody Blues,
Clear Light,
Black Bananas, Black Bananas, Black Bananas, Black Bananas.
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.