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 Chile and from Mumbai.
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 1967 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and Hong Kong.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 1976 at the first Buzzcocks practice in a loft in Bolton.
I was working on the clarinet 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 Lakeside to the rap kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Maurizio. All the underground hits.
All Sad Lovers and Giants tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Knickerbockers record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Anthony Braxton record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Robert Wyatt,
Harpers Bizarre,
Maleditus Sound,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
FM Einheit,
Eric B and Rakim,
Hardrive,
The Electric Prunes,
Tears for Fears,
Lou Christie,
Zero Boys,
Lucky Dragons,
DJ Sneak,
Q and Not U,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Don Cherry,
Masters at Work,
Desert Stars,
The Monochrome Set,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
The Monks,
Fugazi,
Mandrill,
The Angels of Light,
Godley & Creme,
Yazoo,
Marvin Gaye,
Goldenarms,
Black Pus,
Moebius,
Stiv Bators,
Ice-T,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Radiopuhelimet,
Bill Wells,
Joe Smooth,
Index,
The Grass Roots,
The J.B.'s,
CMW,
Qualms,
Leonard Cohen,
Rekid,
Brand Nubian,
The Leaves,
Buzzcocks,
Amon Düül,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Cluster,
Gang Starr,
The Tremeloes,
Clear Light,
Stockholm Monsters,
Chris Corsano,
Bobbi Humphrey,
The Neon Judgement,
Black Bananas,
Byron Stingily,
JFA,
The Dirtbombs,
Soft Cell,
Blake Baxter,
Deadbeat, Deadbeat, Deadbeat, Deadbeat.
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.