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 Mauritania and from Edmonton.
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 1967 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Halifax 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 1971 at the first Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 Fat Boys to the grime 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 Rufus Thomas. All the underground hits.
All Skaos tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Moody Blues record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Ultravox record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Deadbeat,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
The Birthday Party,
Sex Pistols,
the Swans,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
The Fugs,
Ossler,
The Smoke,
Siglo XX,
Spandau Ballet,
Alison Limerick,
The Blackbyrds,
Radiohead,
Lakeside,
Pole,
Bob Dylan,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Sugar Minott,
The Gories,
Bobby Womack,
Stiv Bators,
Alphaville,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Brand Nubian,
Boz Scaggs,
Desert Stars,
Popol Vuh,
James Chance & The Contortions,
JFA,
Soul II Soul,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Tim Buckley,
Qualms,
Marcia Griffiths,
Flamin' Groovies,
Alice Coltrane,
Scott Walker,
Porter Ricks,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Gang of Four,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Johnny Clarke,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Skaos,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Wally Richardson,
Joensuu 1685,
Marmalade,
Public Image Ltd.,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
The Misunderstood,
Yusef Lateef,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
T.S.O.L.,
Erykah Badu,
The Kinks,
Second Layer,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Ronan, Ronan, Ronan, Ronan.
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.