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 Paraguay and from Calgary.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic 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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Philadelphia.
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 1978 at the first Visage practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the marimba 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 A Certain Ratio to the grunge 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 Swans. All the underground hits.
All Nas tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Residents 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Nick Fraelich record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bang On A Can,
Marshall Jefferson,
Japan,
Chrome,
Lakeside,
China Crisis,
Gastr Del Sol,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Faust,
Beasts of Bourbon,
U.S. Maple,
New Order,
Neu!,
The Moleskins,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Jeff Mills,
Rites of Spring,
a-ha,
Amon Düül,
James White and The Blacks,
Pierre Henry,
Traffic Nightmare,
Eric Copeland,
DJ Sneak,
the Soft Cell,
X-Ray Spex,
Arthur Verocai,
Kool Moe Dee,
Brick,
Soft Machine,
K-Klass,
The Dave Clark Five,
The Velvet Underground,
Ituana,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Blancmange,
The Remains,
OOIOO,
Electric Prunes,
Ponytail,
AZ,
Glambeats Corp.,
Byron Stingily,
Fifty Foot Hose,
The Slackers,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
The Gories,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Supertramp,
The Fire Engines,
Sun Ra,
Audionom,
Ohio Players,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Grey Daturas,
The Searchers,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Porter Ricks,
Gabor Szabo,
Arcadia,
The Fall,
Nation of Ulysses,
Monks,
Babytalk,
A Flock of Seagulls, A Flock of Seagulls, A Flock of Seagulls, A Flock of Seagulls.
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.