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 Tajikistan and from Accra.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manila and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Trumans Water to the dance kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Bill Wells. All the underground hits.
All The United States of America tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Moss Icon 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a New York Dolls record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Davy DMX,
The Dirtbombs,
The United States of America,
Idris Muhammad,
Laurel Aitken,
Thee Headcoats,
Sexual Harrassment,
Deepchord,
Eli Mardock,
Cybotron,
Agitation Free,
John Cale,
Vladislav Delay,
Liliput,
Brand Nubian,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Angry Samoans,
The Moleskins,
Hoover,
These Immortal Souls,
Gang of Four,
Derrick Morgan,
Parry Music,
Hot Snakes,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Buzzcocks,
Eric B and Rakim,
Black Moon,
Urselle,
Steve Hackett,
Eric Dolphy,
Aaron Thompson,
U.S. Maple,
June of 44,
Dual Sessions,
ABBA,
The Martian,
Average White Band,
Bob Dylan,
Slave,
Los Fastidios,
Charles Mingus,
Anthony Braxton,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
The Buckinghams,
Gong,
Nico,
The Invisible,
Neu!,
Erykah Badu,
Boredoms,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
London Community Gospel Choir,
The Dave Clark Five,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Max Romeo,
Boogie Down Productions,
The Remains,
Scion,
Donald Byrd,
The Men They Couldn't Hang, The Men They Couldn't Hang, The Men They Couldn't Hang, The Men They Couldn't Hang.
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.