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 Mauritania and from Manchester.
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 1961 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Spokane and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan to the punk kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Heaven 17. All the underground hits.
All the Human League tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Index record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Fad Gadget record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Neu!,
The Raincoats,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Clear Light,
Robert Wyatt,
Can,
The Divine Comedy,
Wire,
Skriet,
Lungfish,
T. Rex,
Ornette Coleman,
Toni Rubio,
Rosa Yemen,
Underground Resistance,
Model 500,
The Dave Clark Five,
Lucky Dragons,
Mo-Dettes,
Wasted Youth,
Mary Jane Girls,
Black Sheep,
Brothers Johnson,
Alphaville,
Jerry Gold Smith,
The Durutti Column,
The Vogues,
The Index,
8 Eyed Spy,
Kenny Larkin,
Warren Ellis,
Barry Ungar,
John Holt,
Gabor Szabo,
Accadde A,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
10cc,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Moebius,
Duran Duran,
Connie Case,
Lindisfarne,
The Pop Group,
Rapeman,
Alison Limerick,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
The Fortunes,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Minutemen,
Infiniti,
H. Thieme,
Jacques Brel,
Steve Hackett,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Aswad,
Average White Band,
Sex Pistols,
Black Bananas,
Ludus,
Khruangbin,
Heaven 17,
Peter & Gordon,
Make Up, Make Up, Make Up, Make Up.
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.