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 St Lucia and from Tokyo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Houston and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Winnipeg 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 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 Kool G Rap & DJ Polo to the funk 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 Boredoms. All the underground hits.
All London Community Gospel Choir tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Donald Byrd 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 an organ and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sight & Sound record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Traffic Nightmare,
John Foxx,
The Young Rascals,
Magma,
Newcleus,
Motorama,
Slick Rick,
Moss Icon,
Suburban Knight,
The Evens,
Bizarre Inc.,
China Crisis,
The Kinks,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Mandrill,
Minor Threat,
Brick,
The Dirtbombs,
LL Cool J,
Half Japanese,
The Real Kids,
Funky Four + One,
Gang of Four,
DNA,
Duran Duran,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Radiopuhelimet,
The Vogues,
Ronan,
Chris & Cosey,
Can,
The Tremeloes,
Quantec,
Dawn Penn,
Malaria!,
Goldenarms,
Albert Ayler,
Kevin Saunderson,
Stereo Dub,
The New Christs,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
The Saints,
Sex Pistols,
The Gap Band,
The Residents,
Alphaville,
Derrick May,
Leonard Cohen,
Average White Band,
The Moleskins,
UT,
Terrestrial Tones,
The Cramps,
The Pretty Things,
The Skatalites,
Danielle Patucci,
Eve St. Jones,
Make Up,
Cybotron,
Buzzcocks,
Supertramp,
Pussy Galore,
Index, Index, Index, Index.
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.