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 Lesotho and from Sao Paulo.
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 1965 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 MC5 to the jazz 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 Black Bananas. All the underground hits.
All Yazoo tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bobbi Humphrey record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a David Bowie record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Selector Dub Narcotic,
June of 44,
Camouflage,
Boogie Down Productions,
Y Pants,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Crispian St. Peters,
The Dirtbombs,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Bauhaus,
Pussy Galore,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Mark Hollis,
the Germs,
Bobby Womack,
Crime,
FM Einheit,
Clear Light,
The Birthday Party,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Rekid,
Freddie Wadling,
Fear,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Colin Newman,
D'Angelo,
Wasted Youth,
The Detroit Cobras,
Archie Shepp,
Dave Gahan,
The Monochrome Set,
Schoolly D,
The Victims,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Junior Murvin,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Jeru the Damaja,
Spandau Ballet,
Scion,
The Velvet Underground,
Popol Vuh,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Ultra Naté,
T.S.O.L.,
Accadde A,
World's Most,
The Gap Band,
B.T. Express,
One Last Wish,
Howard Jones,
Max Romeo,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Glambeats Corp.,
Brothers Johnson,
Jawbox,
The Fall,
The Sound,
Talk Talk,
Hashim,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
LL Cool J, LL Cool J, LL Cool J, LL Cool J.
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.