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 Togo and from Copenhagen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1965 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mexico City 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Throbbing Gristle to the jazz kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Janne Schatter. All the underground hits.
All Mandrill tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sandy B record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Malaria! record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Robert Hood,
Nation of Ulysses,
Gil Scott Heron,
Heaven 17,
the Slits,
The Dave Clark Five,
Flamin' Groovies,
8 Eyed Spy,
Lightning Bolt,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
the Fania All-Stars,
Deakin,
Black Moon,
The Pretty Things,
The Leaves,
Bobby Womack,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Sarah Menescal,
Crime,
Soul II Soul,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
LL Cool J,
Eurythmics,
Hashim,
Pylon,
Faust,
Blossom Toes,
The Wake,
The Music Machine,
Slick Rick,
Glenn Branca,
Surgeon,
Cymande,
Scientists,
The J.B.'s,
Kenny Larkin,
Barbara Tucker,
James White and The Blacks,
Yazoo,
Wire,
Groovy Waters,
Suicide,
Flash Fearless,
Dorothy Ashby,
The Buckinghams,
Newcleus,
The Monks,
The Modern Lovers,
The Techniques,
Tim Buckley,
Public Enemy,
New Age Steppers,
Marshall Jefferson,
Ituana,
Second Layer,
Albert Ayler,
Juan Atkins,
Harmonia,
Cluster,
The Mojo Men,
Arab on Radar, Arab on Radar, Arab on Radar, Arab on Radar.
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.