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 Papua New Guinea and from Edmonton.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Neu! show in Düsseldorf.
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 1964 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Winnipeg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 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 Radiopuhelimet to the grime kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Interpol. All the underground hits.
All Grandmaster Flash tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Monolake record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 theremin and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Blancmange record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Remains,
KRS-One,
Lyres,
Kerri Chandler,
Warsaw,
Kevin Saunderson,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Kool Moe Dee,
Jacques Brel,
Marc Almond,
Inner City,
Anthony Braxton,
Morten Harket,
The Fire Engines,
Gastr Del Sol,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Frankie Knuckles,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Reagan Youth,
Drive Like Jehu,
Rapeman,
Charles Mingus,
Amazonics,
Suburban Knight,
Lucky Dragons,
Steve Hackett,
Von Mondo,
Hot Snakes,
Ten City,
Altered Images,
The J.B.'s,
Jeff Mills,
The Victims,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Darondo,
This Heat,
Curtis Mayfield,
The Stooges,
Skriet,
Radiohead,
MDC,
Reuben Wilson,
Ponytail,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Ornette Coleman,
David Axelrod,
Alphaville,
The Kinks,
Brothers Johnson,
Radio Birdman,
Faust,
Arab on Radar,
The Electric Prunes,
Funkadelic,
Wally Richardson,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Young Marble Giants,
Althea and Donna,
Fear,
The Sound,
Ituana, Ituana, Ituana, Ituana.
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.