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 Poland and from Bremen.
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 Philadelphia and Toronto.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Edmonton 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 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 Idris Muhammad to the punk kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Faraquet. All the underground hits.
All Crash Course in Science tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Harmonia 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Trumans Water record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
OOIOO,
Alton Ellis,
This Heat,
The J.B.'s,
Blancmange,
The Seeds,
The Index,
Faraquet,
Au Pairs,
D'Angelo,
Ultravox,
Michelle Simonal,
Bob Dylan,
Toni Rubio,
Stockholm Monsters,
Sonic Youth,
Dead Boys,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
DNA,
Nation of Ulysses,
Desert Stars,
The Fire Engines,
The Litter,
Buzzcocks,
Harpers Bizarre,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Black Pus,
Bobby Womack,
Skaos,
Gastr Del Sol,
Arab on Radar,
Con Funk Shun,
Section 25,
Index,
Kerri Chandler,
The Martian,
Outsiders,
Rod Modell,
Schoolly D,
Moebius,
Man Eating Sloth,
Babytalk,
Underground Resistance,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Alice Coltrane,
Davy DMX,
Max Romeo,
Ten City,
Moss Icon,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Mary Jane Girls,
Lindisfarne,
Marine Girls,
The Monochrome Set,
Gil Scott Heron,
Swans,
Jeru the Damaja,
Rosa Yemen,
Monks,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx, Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx, Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx, Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx.
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.