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 Burkina and from Hong Kong.
But I was there.
I was there in 1978.
I was there at the first Visage 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 1968 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Lille.
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 1970 at the first Onyeabor practice in a loft in Enugu.
I was working on the theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Aural Exciters 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 Gang Gang Dance. All the underground hits.
All Fugazi tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Jeru the Damaja 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Stiv Bators record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Names,
The Martian,
Connie Case,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Pharoah Sanders,
Ohio Players,
Hoover,
JFA,
Excepter,
Fat Boys,
The Cure,
Deepchord,
Joy Division,
Bobby Sherman,
Buzzcocks,
Liliput,
The Zeros,
The Saints,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Tres Demented,
Matthew Halsall,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Warsaw,
The Stooges,
Dead Boys,
Stockholm Monsters,
Ludus,
Delon & Dalcan,
Ken Boothe,
This Heat,
Bob Dylan,
Adolescents,
The Selecter,
Archie Shepp,
Ronnie Foster,
T.S.O.L.,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Sixth Finger,
Howard Jones,
Tim Buckley,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Arab on Radar,
The Walker Brothers,
Television Personalities,
Fad Gadget,
Y Pants,
Yellowson,
Banda Bassotti,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Bizarre Inc.,
Sällskapet,
In Retrospect,
Niagra,
Eddi Front,
Faust,
Soft Cell,
The Last Poets,
Slave,
Index,
Symarip,
Eric Dolphy,
The Misunderstood, The Misunderstood, The Misunderstood, The Misunderstood.
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.