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 Hong Kong.
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 1966 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Houston and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school London 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 The Remains to the crunk 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 Albert Ayler. All the underground hits.
All Silicon Teens tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Dawn Penn record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Rhythm & Sound,
Clear Light,
China Crisis,
The Vogues,
Jeru the Damaja,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
The Dirtbombs,
Mars,
Hardrive,
Robert Görl,
Soft Cell,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Minutemen,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Boz Scaggs,
Rosa Yemen,
June of 44,
Kaleidoscope,
Harry Pussy,
Can,
Chris & Cosey,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Quantec,
Model 500,
Half Japanese,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
The Dead C,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Japan,
The Walker Brothers,
Leonard Cohen,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
B.T. Express,
Suicide,
Camouflage,
JFA,
Gabor Szabo,
The Kinks,
The Misunderstood,
Amon Düül II,
The Cure,
Audionom,
Yaz,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Urselle,
The Names,
Circle Jerks,
Heaven 17,
The Fire Engines,
the Association,
Mission of Burma,
Iggy Pop,
Crooked Eye,
Rakim,
Panda Bear,
Roxette,
The Zeros,
Delta 5,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark, Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark, Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark, Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark.
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.