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 Hungary and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1978.
I was there at the first Visage 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 1963 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and Tokyo.
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 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
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 Bobby Womack to the rap kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 The United States of America. All the underground hits.
All Sixth Finger tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Drexciya record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Donald Byrd record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The New Christs,
Shuggie Otis,
June of 44,
The Fortunes,
Scott Walker,
John Holt,
Ludus,
Pere Ubu,
Unrelated Segments,
Alice Coltrane,
Los Fastidios,
Ken Boothe,
Yusef Lateef,
Funkadelic,
Bobby Sherman,
Scan 7,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
The Pretty Things,
Deakin,
The Saints,
The Mummies,
Stiv Bators,
Johnny Clarke,
Talk Talk,
Suburban Knight,
Traffic Nightmare,
The Music Machine,
Scratch Acid,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Man Parrish,
Mantronix,
Skarface,
Subhumans,
Aswad,
The Slackers,
The Techniques,
Crime,
Banda Bassotti,
Public Enemy,
Ultra Naté,
Clear Light,
The Alarm Clocks,
Wasted Youth,
Royal Trux,
Connie Case,
Sound Behaviour,
Lindisfarne,
Fatback Band,
Sugar Minott,
Sun Ra,
Bill Wells,
Angry Samoans,
Sonic Youth,
Cecil Taylor,
Gregory Isaacs,
Faust,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Roger Hodgson,
Saccharine Trust, Saccharine Trust, Saccharine Trust, Saccharine Trust.
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.