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 Djibouti and from Milan.
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 1963 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bremen and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the organ 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 Susan Cadogan to the funk 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 Make Up. All the underground hits.
All Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Teenage Jesus and the Jerks record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 a güiro and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Bizarre Inc. record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Silicon Teens,
The Saints,
Cluster,
The Dead C,
Khruangbin,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Make Up,
Dead Boys,
Blake Baxter,
Agitation Free,
Quantec,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Jerry Gold Smith,
the Germs,
Amon Düül,
One Last Wish,
Nik Kershaw,
The Evens,
Reagan Youth,
The Offenders,
The Index,
Isaac Hayes,
The Smoke,
Marvin Gaye,
New Order,
Eric Copeland,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
The Birthday Party,
the Normal,
Peter & Gordon,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Bobby Womack,
The Divine Comedy,
Barry Ungar,
Girls At Our Best!,
Todd Rundgren,
Pulsallama,
JFA,
Pussy Galore,
Goldenarms,
H. Thieme,
Alice Coltrane,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Vainqueur,
Althea and Donna,
Bootsy Collins,
Soul II Soul,
Alphaville,
Echospace,
Nick Fraelich,
Can,
the Bar-Kays,
The Leaves,
Vladislav Delay,
Radiohead,
Harry Pussy,
Swell Maps,
T. Rex,
the Sonics,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Bad Manners,
The Fall, The Fall, The Fall, The Fall.
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.