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 Vanuatu and from New York.
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 1962 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Seoul 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 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Terry Callier to the dance 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 Kerrie Biddell. All the underground hits.
All The Doobie Brothers tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sonic Youth 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Fatback Band record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
T.S.O.L.,
Nation of Ulysses,
Clear Light,
Donald Byrd,
Jeru the Damaja,
David McCallum,
Freddie Wadling,
Accadde A,
The Walker Brothers,
Wire,
Swans,
Tomorrow,
Eric Copeland,
Eli Mardock,
Severed Heads,
Henry Cow,
Tom Boy,
Tropical Tobacco,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Mo-Dettes,
Blake Baxter,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
X-Ray Spex,
Suburban Knight,
Juan Atkins,
Brick,
the Soft Cell,
Magazine,
James White and The Blacks,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
the Germs,
Niagra,
The Fuzztones,
Todd Rundgren,
Kurtis Blow,
Terrestrial Tones,
The Cowsills,
The Wake,
LL Cool J,
Das Ding,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Bill Near,
Maurizio,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Bad Manners,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Godley & Creme,
Kerri Chandler,
Glenn Branca,
John Cale,
Dawn Penn,
Q65,
The Mummies,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
The Vogues,
The Real Kids,
Marmalade,
Deepchord,
Pole,
Deakin, Deakin, Deakin, Deakin.
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.