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 Seoul.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 1968 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Mission of Burma to the funk kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 48th St. Collective. All the underground hits.
All Eric Copeland tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Neil Young & Crazy Horse 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Marshall Jefferson record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Five Americans,
Black Bananas,
Stockholm Monsters,
Bang On A Can,
Lucky Dragons,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Minutemen,
Fad Gadget,
D'Angelo,
Circle Jerks,
Bobby Sherman,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Shuggie Otis,
T. Rex,
Don Cherry,
Excepter,
Ultimate Spinach,
Tubeway Army,
Crispy Ambulance,
Gang of Four,
Fat Boys,
Nik Kershaw,
The Last Poets,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
The Smoke,
Sam Rivers,
The Electric Prunes,
Sandy B,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Barrington Levy,
Interpol,
Country Teasers,
Bill Wells,
Deepchord,
The Cowsills,
Jeff Mills,
Davy DMX,
Television Personalities,
PIL,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Metal Thangz,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Man Eating Sloth,
Fugazi,
Saccharine Trust,
Easy Going,
The Motions,
Los Fastidios,
Barclay James Harvest,
John Foxx,
The Shadows of Knight,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Cameo,
The Techniques,
Slick Rick,
The Raincoats,
Kerrie Biddell,
the Normal,
Carl Craig,
Banda Bassotti,
Rod Modell,
Crooked Eye,
Masters at Work, Masters at Work, Masters at Work, Masters at Work.
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.