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 Haiti and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television show in New York.
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 1966 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 1984 at the first Arcadia practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 funk kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Rapeman. All the underground hits.
All Jeru the Damaja tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Andrew Hill 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sex Pistols record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Kool Moe Dee,
Bang On A Can,
Au Pairs,
Tres Demented,
Thee Headcoats,
Freddie Wadling,
Eddi Front,
Metal Thangz,
Barclay James Harvest,
Vainqueur,
Drexciya,
Groovy Waters,
Sixth Finger,
Josef K,
Skaos,
Junior Murvin,
Country Joe & The Fish,
The Remains,
Scion,
China Crisis,
Q and Not U,
Gregory Isaacs,
Grey Daturas,
Trumans Water,
Funkadelic,
Davy DMX,
Ossler,
the Soft Cell,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Eric B and Rakim,
Ice-T,
John Coltrane,
The Fall,
Loose Ends,
Bobby Byrd,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
In Retrospect,
The Fugs,
Gabor Szabo,
The Skatalites,
Dark Day,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Severed Heads,
Agitation Free,
Qualms,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Minutemen,
Excepter,
Shuggie Otis,
Popol Vuh,
Lakeside,
Cheater Slicks,
T. Rex,
Spoonie Gee,
Peter and Kerry,
Bauhaus,
The Neon Judgement,
Black Pus,
The Divine Comedy,
A Flock of Seagulls,
MDC, MDC, MDC, MDC.
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.