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 Turkmenistan and from Salvador.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 Jakarta and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 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 Fela Kuti to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 a-ha. All the underground hits.
All June of 44 tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Minnie Riperton 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Althea and Donna record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Suicide,
Liliput,
The United States of America,
The Smiths,
James White and The Blacks,
Zapp,
Drive Like Jehu,
Pole,
Lindisfarne,
Black Sheep,
Franke,
Sun Ra,
Michelle Simonal,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Bush Tetras,
The Move,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
In Retrospect,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Moebius,
Hoover,
Scientists,
Hashim,
the Bar-Kays,
The Gladiators,
Grauzone,
Judy Mowatt,
La Düsseldorf,
The Raincoats,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Carl Craig,
Motorama,
Kayak,
The Mojo Men,
Schoolly D,
Brand Nubian,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Tim Buckley,
The Saints,
Mark Hollis,
Siglo XX,
Ludus,
Minor Threat,
KRS-One,
Crooked Eye,
The Fugs,
Nas,
Dual Sessions,
Warren Ellis,
John Holt,
The Dirtbombs,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Cluster,
Technova,
Trumans Water,
Joey Negro,
Bill Wells,
Black Moon,
Stiv Bators,
Country Teasers,
Piero Umiliani,
Deadbeat, Deadbeat, Deadbeat, Deadbeat.
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.