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 Iceland and from Edmonton.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Milan.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mexico City 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 harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Stockholm Monsters to the grunge 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 The Grass Roots. All the underground hits.
All Robert Görl tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Pretty Things record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Lakeside 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?
Warren Ellis,
Malaria!,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Cluster,
Accadde A,
Lower 48,
Mars,
The Neon Judgement,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Gong,
Charles Mingus,
The Remains,
Magma,
LL Cool J,
Audionom,
Nation of Ulysses,
Jacques Brel,
Sugar Minott,
Jawbox,
Anakelly,
Soulsonic Force,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Newcleus,
Colin Newman,
Deadbeat,
Lightning Bolt,
Terrestrial Tones,
Talk Talk,
Magazine,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Andrew Hill,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Big Daddy Kane,
The Durutti Column,
Pole,
The Selecter,
N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell,
Tubeway Army,
The Slackers,
Interpol,
Ituana,
Archie Shepp,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Tears for Fears,
Con Funk Shun,
Second Layer,
The United States of America,
a-ha,
The Evens,
The Velvet Underground,
Avey Tare,
Tom Boy,
Suicide,
Wings,
Television,
Matthew Halsall,
Frankie Knuckles,
Quadrant,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Black Moon,
Blancmange, Blancmange, Blancmange, Blancmange.
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.