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 United States and from Taipei.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1968 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Milan.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mexico City 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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the organ 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 Rosa Yemen to the dance 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 The Barracudas. All the underground hits.
All Bill Wells tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Anthony Braxton 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 808 and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pet Shop Boys record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Funky Four + One,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
F. McDonald,
Angry Samoans,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Rites of Spring,
Monks,
Panda Bear,
Sex Pistols,
DNA,
DJ Sneak,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
The Dirtbombs,
Model 500,
Marshall Jefferson,
The Seeds,
Lou Christie,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Dave Gahan,
The Neon Judgement,
Joe Smooth,
The Busters,
The Tremeloes,
Camouflage,
Sexual Harrassment,
Isaac Hayes,
Bill Near,
Eddi Front,
Wings,
The Cure,
June Days,
Cymande,
Severed Heads,
Jacob Miller,
Rufus Thomas,
This Heat,
The Golliwogs,
Robert Görl,
cv313,
Matthew Bourne,
T.S.O.L.,
Bob Dylan,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Kenny Larkin,
Gong,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Sixth Finger,
Boogie Down Productions,
Deadbeat,
Franke,
Wolf Eyes,
The Fire Engines,
Archie Shepp,
Blancmange,
Prince Buster,
Fear,
Sister Nancy,
Ohio Players,
The Real Kids,
Au Pairs,
The Slackers, The Slackers, The Slackers, The Slackers.
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.