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 Georgia and from Tehran.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle 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 1962 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Seoul and Copenhagen.
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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Robert Hood to the dance kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Brick. All the underground hits.
All Howard Jones tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Symarip 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Monks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a 808.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sällskapet,
Al Stewart,
Jerry Gold Smith,
The Cowsills,
Nas,
Ultimate Spinach,
Anakelly,
Bill Wells,
The Dirtbombs,
Peter and Kerry,
Mars,
Robert Wyatt,
The Angels of Light,
Yazoo,
Livin' Joy,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Derrick May,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Barclay James Harvest,
The Blackbyrds,
Marmalade,
Tommy Roe,
Henry Cow,
48th St. Collective,
China Crisis,
Unwound,
Jacques Brel,
Lalo Schifrin,
Amazonics,
John Cale,
Desert Stars,
Terry Callier,
One Last Wish,
Mark Hollis,
The Real Kids,
The Sonics,
Pylon,
Lightning Bolt,
Rapeman,
Popol Vuh,
Black Sheep,
Eddi Front,
This Heat,
James Chance & The Contortions,
The Pop Group,
Public Enemy,
Gang Starr,
Pere Ubu,
Nick Fraelich,
Dual Sessions,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Radiohead,
Skriet,
U.S. Maple,
Curtis Mayfield,
The Techniques,
Fifty Foot Hose,
ABBA,
Quantec,
Q and Not U, Q and Not U, Q and Not U, Q and Not U.
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.