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 Grenada and from Cairo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic 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 1962 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Woodstock.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Ornette Coleman to the dance 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 Icehouse. All the underground hits.
All Kerri Chandler tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Warren Ellis,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Supertramp,
Los Fastidios,
Swans,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Youth Brigade,
Robert Wyatt,
Alphaville,
Faraquet,
Marine Girls,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
K-Klass,
Spandau Ballet,
Sonic Youth,
Laurel Aitken,
The Golliwogs,
Patti Smith,
Fela Kuti,
The Toasters,
The Slackers,
F. McDonald,
Graham Central Station,
Lebanon Hanover,
Idris Muhammad,
Heaven 17,
Dorothy Ashby,
Fugazi,
The Searchers,
Fort Wilson Riot,
The J.B.'s,
Joe Smooth,
The Tremeloes,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Public Enemy,
Scratch Acid,
Hardrive,
Mantronix,
Lou Reed,
cv313,
Urselle,
Alice Coltrane,
Scrapy,
Popol Vuh,
The Walker Brothers,
Howard Jones,
Cluster,
Whodini,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Sex Pistols,
Susan Cadogan,
Lee Hazlewood,
Mars,
Model 500,
Eden Ahbez,
Depeche Mode,
Livin' Joy,
Rosa Yemen,
Bobby Womack,
Underground Resistance, Underground Resistance, Underground Resistance, Underground Resistance.
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.