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 Morocco and from Tehran.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 Tokyo and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Hong Kong 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 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the 808 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 Model 500 to the punk 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 ABC. All the underground hits.
All Andrew Hill tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Brothers Johnson record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge 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 an arpeggiator and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Flesh Eaters record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Rapeman,
Blancmange,
Electric Prunes,
Wolf Eyes,
Liliput,
Albert Ayler,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
The Knickerbockers,
Interpol,
Eve St. Jones,
Tubeway Army,
Crispian St. Peters,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
The Durutti Column,
Spoonie Gee,
Second Layer,
June Days,
X-Ray Spex,
Siglo XX,
Los Fastidios,
The Happenings,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Jeff Lynne,
cv313,
Aural Exciters,
The Detroit Cobras,
the Fania All-Stars,
The Smoke,
Pantaleimon,
Brick,
B.T. Express,
The American Breed,
Gang Green,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Whodini,
Glambeats Corp.,
Flamin' Groovies,
The Saints,
Surgeon,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Blake Baxter,
Minny Pops,
Rakim,
K-Klass,
Bobbi Humphrey,
David McCallum,
Pussy Galore,
Faust,
Underground Resistance,
Amon Düül,
Bronski Beat,
Minnie Riperton,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Infiniti,
Technova,
Jawbox,
Clear Light,
Minutemen,
Public Image Ltd.,
Lucky Dragons,
Boredoms, Boredoms, Boredoms, Boredoms.
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.