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 Accra.
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 1965 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Spokane.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 1965 at the first Beefheart practice in a loft in Lancaster.
I was working on the harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Gian Franco Pienzio to the techno 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 Lungfish. All the underground hits.
All Pulsallama tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every A Certain Ratio record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Echo & the Bunnymen record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sister Nancy,
John Coltrane,
Dennis Brown,
Jerry's Kids,
Electric Prunes,
Wolf Eyes,
Man Parrish,
Flipper,
The New Christs,
Cluster,
Barbara Tucker,
X-102,
The Music Machine,
London Community Gospel Choir,
T. Rex,
Sun City Girls,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Mission of Burma,
Charles Mingus,
Girls At Our Best!,
Thee Headcoats,
Scientists,
8 Eyed Spy,
Robert Görl,
The Raincoats,
The Neon Judgement,
Ice-T,
Sonny Sharrock,
Sexual Harrassment,
Sällskapet,
Vainqueur,
Icehouse,
Althea and Donna,
The J.B.'s,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
The Martian,
The Young Rascals,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Gichy Dan,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Erasure,
the Fania All-Stars,
Wally Richardson,
Visionaries,LMNO, T- Love & Iriscience,
Chris & Cosey,
Monolake,
Tom Boy,
Jimmy McGriff,
Cheater Slicks,
James White and The Blacks,
Talk Talk,
The Evens,
Fat Boys,
Lucky Dragons,
Janne Schatter,
Pylon,
Los Fastidios,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Grauzone,
The Gun Club,
Faraquet,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Bauhaus, Bauhaus, Bauhaus, Bauhaus.
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.