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 Honduras and from Woodstock.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1962 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 oboe 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 DJ Sneak to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Beasts of Bourbon. All the underground hits.
All Sarah Menescal tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Glambeats Corp. record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno 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 sitar and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Rapeman record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Supertramp,
Spandau Ballet,
Max Romeo,
Inner City,
The Residents,
Eve St. Jones,
Deadbeat,
Michelle Simonal,
James White and The Blacks,
Soulsonic Force,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Lindisfarne,
Mission of Burma,
Monolake,
Motorama,
Joensuu 1685,
The Motions,
Nik Kershaw,
Nas,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Gang Gang Dance,
Avey Tare,
The Busters,
Mr. Review,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Neil Young,
The Fire Engines,
Talk Talk,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Bizarre Inc.,
Isaac Hayes,
DJ Style,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Boz Scaggs,
Infiniti,
Sound Behaviour,
Gong,
Lungfish,
The Music Machine,
Boogie Down Productions,
Blancmange,
Marshall Jefferson,
Cal Tjader,
Ultimate Spinach,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Subhumans,
The United States of America,
Suicide,
The Dead C,
Hardrive,
The Smoke,
Brass Construction,
Harpers Bizarre,
Unrelated Segments,
Matthew Bourne,
Bang On A Can,
John Coltrane,
Swans,
CMW,
Echospace,
Arab on Radar, Arab on Radar, Arab on Radar, Arab on Radar.
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.