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 Turkey and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide show in New York.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bremen 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 oboe 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 Gil Scott Heron to the crunk kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Marshall Jefferson. All the underground hits.
All N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Rufus Thomas record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 chamberlin and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Dirtbombs record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Gun Club,
Ultimate Spinach,
Rod Modell,
Wings,
Parry Music,
Angry Samoans,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Al Stewart,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Man Parrish,
The Associates,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Roxette,
Don Cherry,
the Soft Cell,
The Pop Group,
The Cramps,
Delon & Dalcan,
Dead Boys,
Theoretical Girls,
The Smiths,
Anakelly,
World's Most,
Lower 48,
Y Pants,
Minnie Riperton,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Young Marble Giants,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
The Fire Engines,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Joe Smooth,
Roger Hodgson,
Dawn Penn,
Buzzcocks,
Lou Reed,
Lakeside,
The Wake,
Crispian St. Peters,
Pet Shop Boys,
Lebanon Hanover,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Tomorrow,
E-Dancer,
Sugar Minott,
Youth Brigade,
Crooked Eye,
Porter Ricks,
The Human League,
Drive Like Jehu,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Derrick May,
Barbara Tucker,
Joensuu 1685,
Suicide,
Excepter,
Deakin,
Eric Dolphy,
Sound Behaviour,
Bobby Hutcherson, Bobby Hutcherson, Bobby Hutcherson, Bobby Hutcherson.
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.