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 Georgia and from Delhi.
But I was there.
I was there in 1984.
I was there at the first Arcadia 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 Tehran and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five to the funk kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch. All the underground hits.
All Andrew Hill tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every New Order 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Fela Kuti record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pagans,
Fela Kuti,
Susan Cadogan,
Maleditus Sound,
Au Pairs,
Harry Pussy,
Mr. Review,
Sandy B,
Derrick May,
Spoonie Gee,
Chris & Cosey,
Suicide,
Magma,
Nirvana,
H. Thieme,
Boz Scaggs,
Monks,
Das Ding,
David McCallum,
Arthur Verocai,
Lou Reed,
Yellowson,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Graham Central Station,
Scrapy,
Yaz,
Barrington Levy,
Byron Stingily,
Lyres,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
The Last Poets,
The Martian,
F. McDonald,
Sixth Finger,
FM Einheit,
Danielle Patucci,
Warsaw,
Rites of Spring,
Kayak,
Crime,
Jeff Mills,
The Fall,
The Fire Engines,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
The Remains,
Smog,
Hasil Adkins,
Nick Fraelich,
Chrome,
Average White Band,
The Electric Prunes,
Howard Jones,
Anakelly,
Eric Dolphy,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Alison Limerick,
Tropical Tobacco,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
World's Most, World's Most, World's Most, World's Most.
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.