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 Ecuador and from Paris.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle show in London.
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 1969 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Spokane.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
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 Howard Jones to the jazz 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 Marmalade. All the underground hits.
All The Young Rascals tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pet Shop Boys record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Selecter record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Spoonie Gee,
John Lydon,
Pantytec,
Ultravox,
Suicide,
The Fugs,
Eli Mardock,
The Gun Club,
Curtis Mayfield,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Piero Umiliani,
The Divine Comedy,
The Dirtbombs,
The Smoke,
Archie Shepp,
Ohio Players,
cv313,
X-Ray Spex,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Ossler,
Agent Orange,
The Smiths,
Joe Smooth,
The Blues Magoos,
Mr. Review,
Camouflage,
Mark Hollis,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
John Coltrane,
R.M.O.,
Unwound,
June of 44,
Banda Bassotti,
Organ,
ABBA,
A Flock of Seagulls,
The Beau Brummels,
Magma,
Essential Logic,
Barbara Tucker,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
The Gladiators,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Connie Case,
The Last Poets,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
The Pop Group,
The Fall,
Saccharine Trust,
Tomorrow,
Donald Byrd,
the Association,
The Knickerbockers,
The Flesh Eaters,
The Electric Prunes,
Jandek,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Interpol,
Japan,
Gang Green,
Leonard Cohen,
Average White Band,
Graham Central Station, Graham Central Station, Graham Central Station, Graham Central Station.
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.