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 Guyana and from Taipei.
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 1962 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Tehran.
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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the arpeggiator 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 Lightning Bolt to the dance kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Dawn Penn. All the underground hits.
All the Human League tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Marmalade record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Brothers Johnson record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Brothers Johnson,
Johnny Clarke,
Pantytec,
Barry Ungar,
Talk Talk,
Gang of Four,
Minor Threat,
B.T. Express,
Nick Fraelich,
Lou Christie,
Mandrill,
Al Stewart,
Warsaw,
Alphaville,
the Normal,
The Grass Roots,
Lyres,
Half Japanese,
Popol Vuh,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Hoover,
Magazine,
Animal Collective,
Dawn Penn,
Toni Rubio,
Gang Gang Dance,
Kenny Larkin,
The Cramps,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Saccharine Trust,
The Kinks,
Soulsonic Force,
Soft Machine,
The Litter,
Lungfish,
Yazoo,
Donny Hathaway,
Don Cherry,
Terrestrial Tones,
Wasted Youth,
The Black Dice,
Tubeway Army,
Rotary Connection,
Model 500,
Eric Dolphy,
Harmonia,
The Flesh Eaters,
Alice Coltrane,
Traffic Nightmare,
The Blackbyrds,
Bobby Byrd,
Royal Trux,
Bootsy Collins,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Echospace,
Cameo,
Magma,
Skriet,
X-101,
Charles Mingus, Charles Mingus, Charles Mingus, Charles Mingus.
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.