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 Mongolia and from Madrid.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 Philadelphia and Cairo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Royal Trux to the dance kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Mummies. All the underground hits.
All The Human League tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sexual Harrassment record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Flesh Eaters record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Count Five,
The Sound,
Con Funk Shun,
Avey Tare,
Cameo,
Gang Starr,
Y Pants,
Iggy Pop,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
The Beau Brummels,
Jimmy McGriff,
Dave Gahan,
Angry Samoans,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Eden Ahbez,
Nils Olav,
Sex Pistols,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
The Residents,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Alice Coltrane,
Tres Demented,
Quantec,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Todd Rundgren,
The Last Poets,
Lebanon Hanover,
Grauzone,
The Divine Comedy,
Eric B and Rakim,
Sister Nancy,
Kerrie Biddell,
Skriet,
Johnny Osbourne,
Todd Terry,
The Fuzztones,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Al Stewart,
Bauhaus,
The Durutti Column,
Kurtis Blow,
The Angels of Light,
LL Cool J,
The Sonics,
Scion,
Eric Dolphy,
Eli Mardock,
Tears for Fears,
Graham Central Station,
Freddie Wadling,
Newcleus,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Sun Ra,
Glenn Branca,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Chris & Cosey,
Lower 48,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Don Cherry,
Pantytec,
B.T. Express, B.T. Express, B.T. Express, B.T. Express.
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.