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 Guyana and from Spokane.
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 1967 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Calgary.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Hong Kong 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the sitar 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 Mo-Dettes to the rap kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 F. McDonald. All the underground hits.
All Alphaville tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Mary Jane Girls record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Nik Kershaw,
Lou Christie,
John Coltrane,
New Order,
The Flesh Eaters,
Boredoms,
Suicide,
Faust,
Glenn Branca,
Anakelly,
Unwound,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Don Cherry,
Loose Ends,
Kayak,
Junior Murvin,
The Mighty Diamonds,
June of 44,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Tres Demented,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Motorama,
U.S. Maple,
8 Eyed Spy,
Graham Central Station,
Niagra,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Skriet,
Brothers Johnson,
Bobby Sherman,
Slick Rick,
A Flock of Seagulls,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Henry Cow,
Japan,
ABC,
Connie Case,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Ralphi Rosario,
Max Romeo,
Essential Logic,
Bootsy Collins,
Neu!,
DJ Sneak,
Silicon Teens,
Morten Harket,
Colin Newman,
Robert Görl,
Hasil Adkins,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
H. Thieme,
The Last Poets,
Warren Ellis,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Kerri Chandler,
T. Rex,
Albert Ayler,
Agitation Free,
Barry Ungar,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
The Index, The Index, The Index, The Index.
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.