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 Montenegro and from Philadelphia.
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 1969 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 harpsichord 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 Television Personalities to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Fugs. All the underground hits.
All Suicide tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Make Up record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Harpers Bizarre record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Rekid,
Goldenarms,
The Walker Brothers,
Ultravox,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Mary Jane Girls,
Mo-Dettes,
Warren Ellis,
The Stooges,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Andrew Hill,
Eric B and Rakim,
the Soft Cell,
Heaven 17,
Echospace,
Marshall Jefferson,
The Saints,
Black Sheep,
The Skatalites,
The Cowsills,
Jawbox,
Royal Trux,
Angry Samoans,
DJ Style,
The Happenings,
Severed Heads,
Tres Demented,
Rapeman,
The Monks,
PIL,
Throbbing Gristle,
Scratch Acid,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Niagra,
The Motions,
Guru Guru,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Sound Behaviour,
The Fuzztones,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Eric Copeland,
The Selecter,
Yusef Lateef,
The Toasters,
KRS-One,
Parry Music,
The Knickerbockers,
The Angels of Light,
The Neon Judgement,
Danielle Patucci,
Gabor Szabo,
Bill Wells,
Joy Division,
Lou Reed,
Aswad,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Shuggie Otis,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
B.T. Express,
Siglo XX,
Maurizio, Maurizio, Maurizio, Maurizio.
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.