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 Zimbabwe and from Bologna.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Feelies show in Haledon.
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 1961 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Lagos.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 1983 at the first Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 The Men They Couldn't Hang to the funk 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 Anthony Braxton. All the underground hits.
All Graham Central Station tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every U.S. Maple record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a John Lydon record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Porter Ricks,
The Dirtbombs,
Dead Boys,
Joe Smooth,
Ultravox,
The Pretty Things,
Amon Düül,
Robert Hood,
Scott Walker,
The Gladiators,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
The Cowsills,
Eddi Front,
Mandrill,
Minutemen,
Bill Wells,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Dorothy Ashby,
Tommy Roe,
KRS-One,
Circle Jerks,
Symarip,
Quando Quango,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
World's Most,
Shoche,
Minor Threat,
Model 500,
Soft Cell,
Letta Mbulu,
Skaos,
Absolute Body Control,
Oneida,
The Offenders,
June Days,
Blancmange,
Banda Bassotti,
The Zeros,
Black Bananas,
Zapp,
ABBA,
Lalann,
Fad Gadget,
Japan,
The Grass Roots,
Todd Terry,
David McCallum,
Rotary Connection,
Junior Murvin,
Ossler,
Crash Course in Science,
Don Cherry,
Schoolly D,
The Mojo Men,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
The Birthday Party,
Spandau Ballet,
The Cramps,
Roger Hodgson,
Maurizio,
Ronnie Foster,
Rapeman,
The Skatalites, The Skatalites, The Skatalites, The Skatalites.
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.