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 Ukraine and from Tehran.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television 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 1960 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Sao Paulo.
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 marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 John Lydon to the jazz 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 The Dead C. All the underground hits.
All Art Ensemble Of Chicago tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Stooges record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime 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 rhodes and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gang Green record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Alice Coltrane,
H. Thieme,
Camouflage,
Johnny Osbourne,
Joey Negro,
Jimmy McGriff,
Suburban Knight,
Siglo XX,
Bill Near,
Mark Hollis,
Minutemen,
One Last Wish,
Joyce Sims,
Stereo Dub,
The Birthday Party,
ABBA,
Pantaleimon,
Curtis Mayfield,
Simply Red,
Gang Starr,
Joe Finger,
Grauzone,
Buzzcocks,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Moby Grape,
The Toasters,
June Days,
Roger Hodgson,
Danielle Patucci,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Radiopuhelimet,
Aswad,
Motorama,
Crooked Eye,
T. Rex,
Marc Almond,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
The Kinks,
In Retrospect,
Drexciya,
Black Sheep,
Juan Atkins,
The Cure,
Bronski Beat,
Inner City,
Sonny Sharrock,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Banda Bassotti,
Amon Düül II,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Television,
Oblivians,
Cluster,
Monolake,
Quadrant,
Darondo,
Malaria!,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Ultimate Spinach,
Scott Walker,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Cymande,
Rapeman, Rapeman, Rapeman, Rapeman.
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.