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 Philippines and from Copenhagen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1965 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Tokyo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Hong Kong 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 synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band to the techno 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 Ultravox. All the underground hits.
All The Searchers tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Visage record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Girls At Our Best! record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bobby Womack,
Slick Rick,
Sight & Sound,
Terry Callier,
Technova,
Soul Sonic Force,
UT,
Brick,
Sun City Girls,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Circle Jerks,
Nation of Ulysses,
The Modern Lovers,
Kurtis Blow,
Wings,
The Sisters of Mercy,
The Cramps,
X-102,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Mo-Dettes,
Black Pus,
Skarface,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
The Red Krayola,
Arthur Verocai,
Swell Maps,
Con Funk Shun,
X-Ray Spex,
Symarip,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
The American Breed,
The Kinks,
The Barracudas,
DNA,
Excepter,
Scott Walker,
Wasted Youth,
The Dead C,
Boredoms,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Neu!,
The Doors,
Suicide,
Silicon Teens,
John Cale,
Jimmy McGriff,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
KRS-One,
Deakin,
Arab on Radar,
David McCallum,
Jacob Miller,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Sun Ra,
Howard Jones,
Derrick May,
Avey Tare,
Jeff Mills,
The Remains, The Remains, The Remains, The Remains.
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.