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 Solomon Islands and from Toronto.
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 1969 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Lagos.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Barracudas to the disco 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 Smog. All the underground hits.
All The Offenders tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Judy Mowatt record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Crispian St. Peters,
Sparks,
The Residents,
Lungfish,
Technova,
Marshall Jefferson,
Urselle,
Los Fastidios,
Max Romeo,
Lindisfarne,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Glambeats Corp.,
The Trojans,
Warren Ellis,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Popol Vuh,
John Cale,
Tommy Roe,
Gang Gang Dance,
The Associates,
Cybotron,
Moby Grape,
Josef K,
Agitation Free,
Mandrill,
Saccharine Trust,
ABC,
Maleditus Sound,
Wings,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Rufus Thomas,
Kayak,
Minny Pops,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Bizarre Inc.,
Tropical Tobacco,
Unwound,
Minutemen,
Motorama,
Second Layer,
Robert Hood,
Thompson Twins,
The Music Machine,
Soft Machine,
X-102,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Ponytail,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Hashim,
The Velvet Underground,
Make Up,
Dark Day,
Masters at Work,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
The Zeros,
John Lydon,
Procol Harum,
Television,
The Human League,
the Association, the Association, the Association, the Association.
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.