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 El Salvador and from Hong Kong.
But I was there.
I was there in 1978.
I was there at the first Visage 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 1965 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Seoul and Seoul.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Calgary 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 sitar 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 Bush Tetras to the disco 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 Hoover. All the underground hits.
All Malaria! tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sight & Sound record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz 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 mellotron and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Slackers record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Stooges,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Rhythm & Sound,
Slick Rick,
The Alarm Clocks,
Tomorrow,
The Last Poets,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Ken Boothe,
Roxette,
Hasil Adkins,
The Music Machine,
Althea and Donna,
Loose Ends,
Sonny Sharrock,
Blossom Toes,
MDC,
The Cure,
Smog,
The Grass Roots,
Arab on Radar,
Junior Murvin,
Graham Central Station,
The Invisible,
Y Pants,
Warsaw,
Sexual Harrassment,
Lakeside,
Bronski Beat,
Public Enemy,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
The Offenders,
Rites of Spring,
Connie Case,
Ossler,
World's Most,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
The Black Dice,
Clear Light,
Carl Craig,
Lee Hazlewood,
The Golliwogs,
E-Dancer,
Davy DMX,
Charles Mingus,
Anakelly,
JFA,
The Flesh Eaters,
New York Dolls,
The Divine Comedy,
The Names,
Susan Cadogan,
Quando Quango,
Ituana,
Jeff Lynne,
Hashim,
Letta Mbulu,
The Blackbyrds,
The Gun Club,
OOIOO,
Soulsonic Force,
The Moody Blues, The Moody Blues, The Moody Blues, The Moody Blues.
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.