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 Rwanda and from Copenhagen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1960 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mumbai 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 sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Red Lorry Yellow Lorry to the disco kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Red Krayola. All the underground hits.
All Aaron Thompson tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Offenders 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Severed Heads record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes 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?
Harpers Bizarre,
Absolute Body Control,
The Kinks,
Chris & Cosey,
Lakeside,
The Beau Brummels,
Pole,
Liliput,
Scratch Acid,
Bizarre Inc.,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Stereo Dub,
Sunsets and Hearts,
John Holt,
Duran Duran,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Quadrant,
New Order,
Metal Thangz,
Barry Ungar,
DJ Style,
The Selecter,
Grey Daturas,
Fela Kuti,
Crispy Ambulance,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Gang Starr,
The Names,
The Doobie Brothers,
Big Daddy Kane,
Eve St. Jones,
Judy Mowatt,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Connie Case,
Don Cherry,
Saccharine Trust,
Cameo,
Gil Scott Heron,
Eric B and Rakim,
Pantytec,
Brand Nubian,
A Certain Ratio,
Make Up,
Masters at Work,
The Busters,
Loose Ends,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Aural Exciters,
Barbara Tucker,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Wolf Eyes,
Soul Sonic Force,
The Searchers,
Neu!,
Spandau Ballet,
The Toasters,
Sexual Harrassment,
The Motions,
Alice Coltrane,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Black Bananas,
Sad Lovers and Giants, Sad Lovers and Giants, Sad Lovers and Giants, Sad Lovers and Giants.
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.