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 Ukraine and from Glasgow.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Art of Noise 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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Calgary and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 grunge 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 Wasted Youth. All the underground hits.
All Colin Newman tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Royal Family And The Poor record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Scrapy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sexual Harrassment,
Kenny Larkin,
Excepter,
Anakelly,
Bad Manners,
Jandek,
Monolake,
Siglo XX,
James White and The Blacks,
The Doobie Brothers,
Reagan Youth,
Lee Hazlewood,
Marmalade,
Connie Case,
Marshall Jefferson,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Anthony Braxton,
Bill Near,
Television,
Amon Düül,
Joe Finger,
Gerry Rafferty,
Neu!,
The Tremeloes,
Pantaleimon,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
The Kinks,
Mantronix,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Crooked Eye,
Graham Central Station,
Aural Exciters,
Popol Vuh,
Faust,
Kaleidoscope,
U.S. Maple,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Rakim,
The Fire Engines,
Roger Hodgson,
The Alarm Clocks,
Hardrive,
The Dirtbombs,
Scan 7,
Brass Construction,
Magazine,
The Pop Group,
The Wake,
The Gories,
Barclay James Harvest,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Youth Brigade,
Harmonia,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Lalann,
Radio Birdman,
Junior Murvin,
Cal Tjader,
The Remains,
the Fania All-Stars,
Black Pus,
Metal Thangz,
James Chance & The Contortions, James Chance & The Contortions, James Chance & The Contortions, James Chance & The Contortions.
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.