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 Egypt and from Bologna.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 1983 at the first Bronski Beat practice in a loft in Brixton.
I was working on the clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Marcia Griffiths to the dance kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Derrick Morgan. All the underground hits.
All Metal Thangz tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Scion record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge 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 synthesizer and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Faust record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Hoover,
Moss Icon,
Electric Prunes,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Visage,
Robert Hood,
The Dirtbombs,
Moebius,
Rakim,
Popol Vuh,
The Kinks,
Lou Reed,
The Golliwogs,
Nico,
The Slits,
Absolute Body Control,
Derrick Morgan,
Thee Headcoats,
The Mummies,
Howard Jones,
Darondo,
Nils Olav,
Sonny Sharrock,
The Divine Comedy,
Clear Light,
Mandrill,
Rotary Connection,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Radiohead,
Bobby Womack,
Aural Exciters,
The Tremeloes,
The Dead C,
Frankie Knuckles,
The Walker Brothers,
The Gladiators,
KRS-One,
Japan,
Nation of Ulysses,
Sarah Menescal,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Surgeon,
The Blues Magoos,
Gang Green,
Ultravox,
Whodini,
Loose Ends,
Scan 7,
The Fall,
Scientists,
Gang Gang Dance,
Deepchord,
Scrapy,
The Beau Brummels,
Model 500,
EPMD,
Johnny Clarke,
Mantronix, Mantronix, Mantronix, Mantronix.
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.