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 South Africa and from Lagos.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Big Star show in Memphis.
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 1963 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bremen 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 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Fat Boys to the funk 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 Los Fastidios. All the underground hits.
All Absolute Body Control tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Jawbox 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Monks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Dirtbombs,
Alison Limerick,
The Blackbyrds,
Avey Tare,
The Evens,
Cecil Taylor,
Stockholm Monsters,
New Age Steppers,
Max Romeo,
Schoolly D,
Judy Mowatt,
the Sonics,
The Birthday Party,
Crooked Eye,
Matthew Halsall,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Curtis Mayfield,
Porter Ricks,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
The Zeros,
F. McDonald,
Kevin Saunderson,
Oneida,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Dual Sessions,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Aaron Thompson,
Soul II Soul,
Scott Walker,
Los Fastidios,
Index,
Colin Newman,
Wolf Eyes,
The Litter,
The Last Poets,
Throbbing Gristle,
The Blues Magoos,
Reagan Youth,
Ossler,
FM Einheit,
The Offenders,
The Five Americans,
Amon Düül II,
Shoche,
Supertramp,
Barrington Levy,
Black Pus,
Q and Not U,
Tres Demented,
Thee Headcoats,
The Gories,
Swans,
Man Eating Sloth,
Deepchord,
The Wake,
The Walker Brothers,
Marine Girls,
Bill Near,
Ronnie Foster, Ronnie Foster, Ronnie Foster, Ronnie Foster.
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.