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 Pakistan and from Delhi.
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 1960 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Halifax.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the marimba 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 Cheater Slicks to the punk 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 OOIOO. All the underground hits.
All Bill Wells tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Robert Wyatt record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Ponytail record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Dead Boys,
Erykah Badu,
The Move,
John Lydon,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Johnny Clarke,
K-Klass,
Charles Mingus,
Lou Christie,
Oneida,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Arcadia,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Wire,
Steve Hackett,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Radiopuhelimet,
The Angels of Light,
Ralphi Rosario,
The Detroit Cobras,
La Düsseldorf,
Eric B and Rakim,
the Slits,
Jerry's Kids,
Deadbeat,
Kerrie Biddell,
Rosa Yemen,
Popol Vuh,
Tears for Fears,
Leonard Cohen,
Piero Umiliani,
Electric Prunes,
Babytalk,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Drexciya,
Make Up,
Bill Wells,
Monks,
Altered Images,
Skriet,
The Human League,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Crime,
Wings,
Hot Snakes,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Yazoo,
Warsaw,
The Martian,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Judy Mowatt,
The Dead C,
Yellowson,
Moss Icon,
Nas,
Fatback Band,
Albert Ayler,
Bronski Beat,
the Sonics,
The Stooges,
Severed Heads,
David McCallum,
Rufus Thomas, Rufus Thomas, Rufus Thomas, Rufus Thomas.
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.