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 Guinea-Bissau and from Lagos.
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 1966 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 1967 at the first Rodriguez practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the organ 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 The Kinks to the grunge 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 Gian Franco Pienzio. All the underground hits.
All The Birthday Party tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Jesper Dahlback 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a B.T. Express record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet 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?
The Music Machine,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Sandy B,
Drive Like Jehu,
Mandrill,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Magazine,
Brass Construction,
Warsaw,
Alison Limerick,
U.S. Maple,
The Vogues,
Wally Richardson,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Tim Buckley,
The Gladiators,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Icehouse,
Harmonia,
Ash Ra Tempel,
One Last Wish,
Young Marble Giants,
Porter Ricks,
EPMD,
The Litter,
The Flesh Eaters,
Zapp,
Das Ding,
Ralphi Rosario,
N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell,
Jeff Lynne,
Ronan,
Crime,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
The Electric Prunes,
Arthur Verocai,
Albert Ayler,
Erykah Badu,
Crispian St. Peters,
Fugazi,
Half Japanese,
The Real Kids,
The Walker Brothers,
Mary Jane Girls,
Theoretical Girls,
Pharoah Sanders,
Interpol,
The Dirtbombs,
Johnny Osbourne,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Whodini,
Lyres,
OOIOO,
Eden Ahbez,
Sex Pistols,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Average White Band,
Aaron Thompson,
Ultra Naté,
Cybotron,
The Martian,
Lou Christie,
UT, UT, UT, UT.
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.