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 Equatorial Guinea and from Paris.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1960 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Winnipeg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow 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 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 Cymande to the grime kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 T. Rex. All the underground hits.
All The Tremeloes tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Sound record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Suicide record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Cramps,
Scion,
David Axelrod,
Tom Boy,
Marine Girls,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
DNA,
Boz Scaggs,
Q and Not U,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Faraquet,
One Last Wish,
Negative Approach,
Gichy Dan,
Dorothy Ashby,
Crispy Ambulance,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
The Count Five,
Black Moon,
Delon & Dalcan,
The Cowsills,
Juan Atkins,
L. Decosne,
Sound Behaviour,
Marmalade,
The Dirtbombs,
Arab on Radar,
Tommy Roe,
Faust,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
The Electric Prunes,
Mr. Review,
Model 500,
Kas Product,
Circle Jerks,
Bobby Womack,
Lou Christie,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Prince Buster,
the Association,
H. Thieme,
Cabaret Voltaire,
New York Dolls,
Traffic Nightmare,
Section 25,
Arthur Verocai,
Letta Mbulu,
Scratch Acid,
Hardrive,
Lebanon Hanover,
The Slackers,
The Divine Comedy,
Crash Course in Science,
Bill Wells,
T. Rex,
Don Cherry,
Spoonie Gee,
Harry Pussy,
Harmonia,
The Saints,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Skriet, Skriet, Skriet, Skriet.
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.