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 Kenya and from Bremen.
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 1961 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Calgary and Manila.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Harry Pussy to the grime kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Barbara Tucker. All the underground hits.
All Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Altered Images 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Thompson Twins record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Slackers,
The Flesh Eaters,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Faust,
Nils Olav,
Barbara Tucker,
John Lydon,
Moebius,
Fad Gadget,
Monolake,
Cymande,
Johnny Osbourne,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Dead Boys,
MDC,
The Durutti Column,
Thompson Twins,
Nico,
Lalann,
Brothers Johnson,
This Heat,
Albert Ayler,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Max Romeo,
June of 44,
Malaria!,
Rekid,
The Fugs,
Matthew Bourne,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Theoretical Girls,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
The Kinks,
10cc,
Althea and Donna,
Bad Manners,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Vladislav Delay,
The Birthday Party,
Cal Tjader,
The J.B.'s,
OOIOO,
Tubeway Army,
Marine Girls,
Sixth Finger,
Man Parrish,
the Slits,
Con Funk Shun,
Dorothy Ashby,
Ludus,
Popol Vuh,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Moss Icon,
Supertramp,
The Toasters,
Gregory Isaacs,
Jeff Mills,
Buzzcocks, Buzzcocks, Buzzcocks, Buzzcocks.
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.