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 Gambia and from Shanghai.
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 1961 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Columbus 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 spring reverb 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 Frankie Knuckles to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Hasil Adkins. All the underground hits.
All Art Ensemble Of Chicago tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bang On A Can 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Standells record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sunsets and Hearts,
Interpol,
Joy Division,
Darondo,
L. Decosne,
Bush Tetras,
ABBA,
Scan 7,
Mary Jane Girls,
Wally Richardson,
Sound Behaviour,
Desert Stars,
Infiniti,
Country Joe & The Fish,
The Velvet Underground,
The Busters,
Boredoms,
The Index,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Kerri Chandler,
Model 500,
Yellowson,
Parry Music,
Icehouse,
Monks,
Donny Hathaway,
Quadrant,
Dave Gahan,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Arab on Radar,
the Sonics,
The Dirtbombs,
Faust,
Ituana,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Mars,
Cymande,
The Martian,
Schoolly D,
China Crisis,
The Kinks,
Lalo Schifrin,
The Gladiators,
F. McDonald,
Wire,
The Tremeloes,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
The Monks,
The Pretty Things,
The Wake,
Flamin' Groovies,
Charles Mingus,
The Blues Magoos,
Eli Mardock,
Davy DMX,
Susan Cadogan,
Sparks,
The Misunderstood,
The Black Dice,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Kurtis Blow, Kurtis Blow, Kurtis Blow, Kurtis Blow.
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.