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 Norway and from Seoul.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manila and Woodstock.
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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Notorious Big And Bone Thugs to the techno kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Fort Wilson Riot. All the underground hits.
All Jacob Miller tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Barbara Tucker 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?
Soft Cell,
Spandau Ballet,
Blossom Toes,
Au Pairs,
Black Pus,
ABBA,
The Slits,
Outsiders,
Slick Rick,
Soul Sonic Force,
The Dirtbombs,
the Germs,
Throbbing Gristle,
Duran Duran,
Unwound,
Aaron Thompson,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Magazine,
R.M.O.,
The Shadows of Knight,
Accadde A,
Negative Approach,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Magma,
The Alarm Clocks,
Harpers Bizarre,
Banda Bassotti,
The Motions,
Electric Prunes,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
The Pretty Things,
Heaven 17,
These Immortal Souls,
Idris Muhammad,
Depeche Mode,
Avey Tare,
Unrelated Segments,
The Fugs,
Lalann,
Bang On A Can,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
ABC,
The Victims,
Cluster,
Shoche,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Albert Ayler,
Faraquet,
Andrew Hill,
Kayak,
Nik Kershaw,
Altered Images,
OOIOO,
Maurizio,
Marine Girls,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
David McCallum,
The Sonics,
DJ Sneak,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
the Soft Cell, the Soft Cell, the Soft Cell, the Soft Cell.
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.