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 Equatorial Guinea and from Copenhagen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1967 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Seoul.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 guitar 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 Magazine to the punk kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Byron Stingily. All the underground hits.
All The Dead C tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Flipper record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a the Fania All-Stars record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Lalo Schifrin,
The Martian,
Yusef Lateef,
Tres Demented,
Circle Jerks,
Negative Approach,
Judy Mowatt,
Jeru the Damaja,
Basic Channel,
Joensuu 1685,
Howard Jones,
Sexual Harrassment,
the Fania All-Stars,
Eve St. Jones,
Groovy Waters,
The Offenders,
Brand Nubian,
Magazine,
New Age Steppers,
It's A Beautiful Day,
The Walker Brothers,
Harry Pussy,
Second Layer,
The Misunderstood,
The Dirtbombs,
Goldenarms,
Clear Light,
a-ha,
The Human League,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Slick Rick,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Rod Modell,
Darondo,
These Immortal Souls,
Radiopuhelimet,
Big Daddy Kane,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Ice-T,
The Flesh Eaters,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Porter Ricks,
La Düsseldorf,
JFA,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Marcia Griffiths,
Thompson Twins,
The Red Krayola,
Neu!,
Sunsets and Hearts,
The Young Rascals,
Alton Ellis,
Dead Boys,
Ralphi Rosario,
The Shadows of Knight,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Fear,
Glambeats Corp.,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Pantaleimon,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Gastr Del Sol,
The Mummies,
Visage, Visage, Visage, Visage.
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.