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 Lebanon and from Beijing.
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 1964 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 linndrum 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 KRS-One to the dance kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 The Alarm Clocks. All the underground hits.
All Ten City tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Idris Muhammad record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Real Kids,
Sandy B,
Boredoms,
Grandmaster Flash,
New York Dolls,
Neil Young,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Brick,
Intrusion,
Marmalade,
Reagan Youth,
The Misunderstood,
Vladislav Delay,
Lucky Dragons,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Subhumans,
Lou Reed,
T.S.O.L.,
The Last Poets,
48th St. Collective,
The Cosmic Jokers,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
The Cramps,
The Saints,
the Sonics,
Moebius,
Gregory Isaacs,
Silicon Teens,
The Detroit Cobras,
The Electric Prunes,
Gastr Del Sol,
Q65,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Niagra,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Pharoah Sanders,
Stereo Dub,
New Order,
the Association,
Tropical Tobacco,
Hasil Adkins,
Neu!,
The New Christs,
The Standells,
Can,
Josef K,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Spoonie Gee,
Jeru the Damaja,
Terrestrial Tones,
Steve Hackett,
the Human League,
Wings,
Schoolly D,
Franke,
Aswad,
Trumans Water,
Mantronix,
Ten City,
Surgeon,
Donald Byrd,
Negative Approach,
Hot Snakes,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Barry Ungar, Barry Ungar, Barry Ungar, Barry Ungar.
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.