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 Zambia and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide 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 1964 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lille and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 1984 at the first Arcadia practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Circle Jerks to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Danielle Patucci. All the underground hits.
All Reuben Wilson tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Ponytail record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 güiro and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sex Pistols record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bang On A Can,
a-ha,
Drexciya,
Deepchord,
Underground Resistance,
Minnie Riperton,
The Names,
Saccharine Trust,
Infiniti,
Minor Threat,
The Birthday Party,
New Order,
The Doors,
The Music Machine,
The Stooges,
Ultimate Spinach,
The Cramps,
Agitation Free,
B.T. Express,
The Standells,
Amazonics,
Davy DMX,
Newcleus,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Bill Wells,
Derrick May,
Con Funk Shun,
Traffic Nightmare,
Johnny Osbourne,
Ultravox,
Livin' Joy,
Buzzcocks,
The Golliwogs,
Sun Ra,
Gang of Four,
Wolf Eyes,
Nico,
Intrusion,
Banda Bassotti,
Gil Scott Heron,
FM Einheit,
Mary Jane Girls,
Pharoah Sanders,
Bronski Beat,
Massinfluence,
Moebius,
Simply Red,
The Flesh Eaters,
Mantronix,
Aural Exciters,
Mr. Review,
Malaria!,
Severed Heads,
Big Daddy Kane,
KRS-One,
Desert Stars,
Dennis Brown,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Wasted Youth,
Hardrive, Hardrive, Hardrive, Hardrive.
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.