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 Korea South and from Taipei.
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 1960 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lille 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 spring reverb 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 Johnny Clarke to the funk 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 Supertramp. All the underground hits.
All Roxy Music tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Michelle Simonal record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Eve St. Jones record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Lungfish,
Pole,
Moby Grape,
The Slits,
Gerry Rafferty,
Ronan,
The Moleskins,
Livin' Joy,
Masters at Work,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
The Mighty Diamonds,
The Gun Club,
Tubeway Army,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Eddi Front,
Kurtis Blow,
Henry Cow,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Sugar Minott,
Nirvana,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Jeff Mills,
Peter & Gordon,
New York Dolls,
Lalo Schifrin,
T. Rex,
Moebius,
Monks,
Fat Boys,
Crispian St. Peters,
June Days,
Grandmaster Flash,
The Index,
Joey Negro,
Ludus,
Glenn Branca,
R.M.O.,
Lee Hazlewood,
Rakim,
The Angels of Light,
The Modern Lovers,
Wire,
Gabor Szabo,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Intrusion,
Television,
Tears for Fears,
Pulsallama,
Wally Richardson,
Crash Course in Science,
Gang of Four,
Unrelated Segments,
Nas,
Icehouse,
Harmonia,
Agitation Free,
Grauzone,
Marc Almond,
Lower 48,
Scrapy,
Ossler,
Jerry's Kids,
The Music Machine, The Music Machine, The Music Machine, The Music Machine.
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.