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 Algeria and from Woodstock.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Art of Noise 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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Columbus 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 Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Don Cherry to the dance kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Public Enemy. All the underground hits.
All Faraquet tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Pretty Things 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 sitar and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Lou Reed record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
World's Most,
The Grass Roots,
Avey Tare,
Malaria!,
Byron Stingily,
Monks,
The Gories,
Man Eating Sloth,
The Stooges,
The United States of America,
Deepchord,
John Holt,
Pagans,
Sex Pistols,
Idris Muhammad,
Michelle Simonal,
Metal Thangz,
Faust,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Ituana,
Sight & Sound,
Lou Reed,
Throbbing Gristle,
Sun City Girls,
Ultra Naté,
Chrome,
Country Teasers,
Boz Scaggs,
Dawn Penn,
New Order,
Bootsy Collins,
The Motions,
Joe Smooth,
Soft Machine,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Kurtis Blow,
Stetsasonic,
Desert Stars,
Laurel Aitken,
Marshall Jefferson,
New York Dolls,
Grey Daturas,
The Mummies,
The Cosmic Jokers,
CMW,
Tomorrow,
Cybotron,
Sister Nancy,
Brothers Johnson,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
The Vogues,
Nas,
Archie Shepp,
Lucky Dragons,
Kayak,
Nik Kershaw,
Second Layer,
Ultimate Spinach,
Gil Scott Heron,
Panda Bear,
Darondo, Darondo, Darondo, Darondo.
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.