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 Zimbabwe and from Philadelphia.
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 1963 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Calgary 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 Soft Boys practice in a loft in Cambridge.
I was working on the mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Sex Pistols to the grime 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 The Dave Clark Five. All the underground hits.
All Cal Tjader tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Skarface record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 synthesizer and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The American Breed record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Hardrive,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Wasted Youth,
Sällskapet,
Quadrant,
The Techniques,
Reagan Youth,
The Move,
Index,
Crooked Eye,
Schoolly D,
Magma,
Sonny Sharrock,
Traffic Nightmare,
Sex Pistols,
Vladislav Delay,
The Fall,
Howard Jones,
Jacob Miller,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Faust,
The Fortunes,
The Slackers,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Q and Not U,
The Dirtbombs,
The Last Poets,
Popol Vuh,
Grauzone,
Bill Wells,
Severed Heads,
Crash Course in Science,
David McCallum,
Isaac Hayes,
In Retrospect,
Royal Trux,
Man Parrish,
The Knickerbockers,
Buzzcocks,
Con Funk Shun,
Sun City Girls,
Ultimate Spinach,
Glenn Branca,
Supertramp,
Babytalk,
The Gories,
Donald Byrd,
Althea and Donna,
Cameo,
The Victims,
Minnie Riperton,
Monks,
Hot Snakes,
Jeff Mills,
Au Pairs,
London Community Gospel Choir,
U.S. Maple,
Nico,
Funkadelic,
Tommy Roe,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Gian Franco Pienzio, Gian Franco Pienzio, Gian Franco Pienzio, Gian Franco Pienzio.
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.