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 Guatemala and from Madrid.
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 1969 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Portland.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the clarinet 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 Traffic Nightmare to the dance kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Cecil Taylor. All the underground hits.
All Y Pants tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Five Americans 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Camouflage record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
8 Eyed Spy,
Mission of Burma,
Deadbeat,
Desert Stars,
Neu!,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Mars,
DJ Sneak,
Harry Pussy,
Rekid,
The Pretty Things,
Fatback Band,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Lou Christie,
Shoche,
Gang Green,
Banda Bassotti,
Tubeway Army,
The Doobie Brothers,
the Human League,
Loose Ends,
The Saints,
John Cale,
The Birthday Party,
Circle Jerks,
Max Romeo,
Mary Jane Girls,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Depeche Mode,
Barbara Tucker,
Lalo Schifrin,
Fluxion,
FM Einheit,
Carl Craig,
E-Dancer,
The Gladiators,
Yusef Lateef,
The Fall,
The Busters,
The Fuzztones,
Pagans,
Faraquet,
Howard Jones,
Amon Düül II,
The Remains,
The Cure,
Absolute Body Control,
New York Dolls,
Warren Ellis,
Thompson Twins,
Ronnie Foster,
Sam Rivers,
Henry Cow,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Quando Quango,
Dawn Penn,
The Searchers,
Interpol,
Jawbox,
Connie Case,
Darondo, Darondo, Darondo, Darondo.
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.