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 Ghana and from Philadelphia.
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 1963 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Edmonton and Mexico City.
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 Wire practice in a loft in Watford.
I was working on the oboe 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 Stockholm Monsters to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Fad Gadget. All the underground hits.
All Sam Rivers tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Moby Grape record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Kool Moe Dee,
Intrusion,
Howard Jones,
Darondo,
Pharoah Sanders,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Marvin Gaye,
Sarah Menescal,
Das Ding,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
the Sonics,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Circle Jerks,
Harmonia,
Masters at Work,
Crooked Eye,
Arthur Verocai,
Cluster,
Morten Harket,
ABBA,
Magazine,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
AZ,
Shuggie Otis,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Sugar Minott,
Audionom,
Spandau Ballet,
Rakim,
Cal Tjader,
Roger Hodgson,
Sight & Sound,
Swans,
Bauhaus,
Don Cherry,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Massinfluence,
Tres Demented,
Sister Nancy,
Gang Gang Dance,
Lou Christie,
Eve St. Jones,
The Kinks,
Angry Samoans,
Anthony Braxton,
Aaron Thompson,
Bluetip,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
A Certain Ratio,
Television,
Tomorrow,
Moss Icon,
Lyres,
Grauzone,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Schoolly D,
Barry Ungar,
Skaos,
Boredoms, Boredoms, Boredoms, Boredoms.
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.