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 Venezuela and from New York.
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 1966 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Jakarta.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Calgary 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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
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 Symarip to the grunge kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 D'Angelo. All the underground hits.
All Blancmange tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Los Fastidios record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Lungfish record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pussy Galore,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Swans,
Rod Modell,
Gong,
Morten Harket,
Bauhaus,
The Kinks,
Yusef Lateef,
U.S. Maple,
New Order,
Soulsonic Force,
Average White Band,
Lou Christie,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Bob Dylan,
Echospace,
Howard Jones,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Boogie Down Productions,
Moss Icon,
Dorothy Ashby,
Big Daddy Kane,
Chrome,
The American Breed,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Boz Scaggs,
Altered Images,
Stereo Dub,
Unrelated Segments,
Blancmange,
Jeff Lynne,
D'Angelo,
Spandau Ballet,
Scratch Acid,
Kaleidoscope,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Bootsy Collins,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Andrew Hill,
Piero Umiliani,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Barclay James Harvest,
Isaac Hayes,
Porter Ricks,
K-Klass,
Desert Stars,
Fugazi,
Rotary Connection,
The Slits,
The Human League,
Tubeway Army,
The Moleskins,
Parry Music,
Eli Mardock,
Negative Approach,
The Durutti Column,
Flash Fearless,
ABBA,
Cybotron,
The Happenings,
Country Teasers,
Cluster, Cluster, Cluster, Cluster.
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.