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 Eritrea and from Philadelphia.
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 1964 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 linndrum 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 Sam Rivers to the disco 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 Glambeats Corp.. All the underground hits.
All The Mighty Diamonds tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Lebanon Hanover record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sad Lovers and Giants record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Crispian St. Peters,
Byron Stingily,
DJ Style,
Parry Music,
The Alarm Clocks,
The Fire Engines,
Cal Tjader,
Harmonia,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Nik Kershaw,
the Bar-Kays,
Harry Pussy,
Crash Course in Science,
FM Einheit,
Kenny Larkin,
Khruangbin,
The Remains,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
The J.B.'s,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Aural Exciters,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Black Bananas,
Gastr Del Sol,
Minny Pops,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
The Seeds,
The Smoke,
The Pop Group,
The Sound,
World's Most,
the Normal,
Letta Mbulu,
DJ Sneak,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
The Mojo Men,
Public Image Ltd.,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Black Sheep,
Kayak,
The Knickerbockers,
Absolute Body Control,
Johnny Osbourne,
Hot Snakes,
Public Enemy,
The Victims,
Bronski Beat,
Tres Demented,
Jeff Lynne,
New Age Steppers,
Skarface,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Howard Jones,
Procol Harum,
Hoover,
Quantec,
Amon Düül II,
Moss Icon,
Thompson Twins,
Aaron Thompson,
MC5, MC5, MC5, MC5.
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.