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 Tunisia and from Stockholm.
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 1968 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Seoul.
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 1983 at the first Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 Jeru the Damaja to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Selecter. All the underground hits.
All Eric Copeland tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Last Poets record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash 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 clarinet and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Throbbing Gristle record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Popol Vuh,
Hasil Adkins,
Pharoah Sanders,
Nico,
Lungfish,
Aloha Tigers,
David McCallum,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Jeru the Damaja,
Harmonia,
Junior Murvin,
The Last Poets,
EPMD,
MC5,
Bobby Womack,
DNA,
Jerry's Kids,
Marvin Gaye,
Von Mondo,
Circle Jerks,
Suicide,
Dorothy Ashby,
The Moody Blues,
ABC,
Saccharine Trust,
Gil Scott Heron,
Surgeon,
Rod Modell,
Danielle Patucci,
R.M.O.,
Neil Young,
Sight & Sound,
The Techniques,
The Neon Judgement,
Kaleidoscope,
Moby Grape,
The Offenders,
The Stooges,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Mo-Dettes,
the Fania All-Stars,
Albert Ayler,
Mandrill,
Sex Pistols,
The Tremeloes,
John Lydon,
Magma,
The Skatalites,
Chris Corsano,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Radio Birdman,
Mr. Review,
The Doobie Brothers,
Kerrie Biddell,
Girls At Our Best!,
Electric Prunes,
PIL,
Susan Cadogan,
Tim Buckley,
Sexual Harrassment, Sexual Harrassment, Sexual Harrassment, Sexual Harrassment.
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.