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 Mali and from Seoul.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo 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 guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Terror Squad Feat. Camron to the disco kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 The Human League. All the underground hits.
All Henry Cow tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Fort Wilson Riot 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Rhythim Is Rhythim record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Henry Cow,
The Real Kids,
Scott Walker,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Sällskapet,
Con Funk Shun,
John Coltrane,
Mr. Review,
The Cowsills,
Index,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Desert Stars,
Connie Case,
Throbbing Gristle,
Sticky Fingaz feat. Raekwon,
Patti Smith,
Bill Near,
Harry Pussy,
Cheater Slicks,
Oneida,
Jimmy McGriff,
Adolescents,
Amon Düül II,
Pulsallama,
Jacob Miller,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Suburban Knight,
Rites of Spring,
Saccharine Trust,
Metal Thangz,
Ohio Players,
Duran Duran,
DJ Sneak,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Jeru the Damaja,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Agent Orange,
Lou Christie,
Don Cherry,
Ten City,
The Fortunes,
Little Man,
the Bar-Kays,
Scan 7,
Interpol,
Slave,
Glambeats Corp.,
Fugazi,
The Birthday Party,
Kevin Saunderson,
The Fugs,
This Heat,
Easy Going,
KRS-One,
The Angels of Light,
Yellowson,
Whodini,
Bizarre Inc.,
Scion,
Porter Ricks,
The Monochrome Set,
The Velvet Underground,
Big Daddy Kane,
Accadde A,
Icehouse, Icehouse, Icehouse, Icehouse.
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.