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 Tonga and from Hong Kong.
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 1965 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Calgary and Salvador.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Jakarta 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 synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Barry Ungar to the funk kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Zapp. All the underground hits.
All Carl Craig tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Stockholm Monsters 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Index record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sarah Menescal,
The Flesh Eaters,
Siglo XX,
The Alarm Clocks,
Ponytail,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Echospace,
Mission of Burma,
Yellowson,
Interpol,
X-101,
Main Source,
Reagan Youth,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Little Man,
Gang Green,
Audionom,
Soulsonic Force,
Sight & Sound,
Black Bananas,
K-Klass,
Swell Maps,
Suicide,
Unrelated Segments,
Patti Smith,
Icehouse,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Amazonics,
Technova,
Funkadelic,
Todd Terry,
Scratch Acid,
Juan Atkins,
Big Daddy Kane,
Nation of Ulysses,
Scientists,
Charles Mingus,
Nils Olav,
Eric Copeland,
Warsaw,
Piero Umiliani,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Silicon Teens,
Idris Muhammad,
Archie Shepp,
The Monks,
Sällskapet,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Sexual Harrassment,
the Human League,
Freddie Wadling,
Mr. Review,
The Selecter,
Prince Buster,
Inner City,
Heaven 17,
Dorothy Ashby,
The Neon Judgement,
Flipper,
Monks,
Wasted Youth,
Chris Corsano, Chris Corsano, Chris Corsano, Chris Corsano.
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.