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 Eritrea and from Delhi.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mexico City 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 arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 The American Breed to the grime 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 Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds. All the underground hits.
All Lalann tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Gang of Four record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime 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 rhodes and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a David McCallum record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Sisters of Mercy,
the Swans,
Bob Dylan,
Gang Starr,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
The Dirtbombs,
Stiv Bators,
Eric B and Rakim,
Alice Coltrane,
The Detroit Cobras,
Girls At Our Best!,
The Offenders,
The Real Kids,
Negative Approach,
the Human League,
E-Dancer,
Scientists,
Fluxion,
Bobby Sherman,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Peter and Kerry,
Nick Fraelich,
Suburban Knight,
Excepter,
Todd Terry,
Alphaville,
Warren Ellis,
Mary Jane Girls,
Severed Heads,
T. Rex,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Harmonia,
The Smoke,
Electric Prunes,
Fifty Foot Hose,
The Golliwogs,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Wings,
The Vogues,
Piero Umiliani,
10cc,
Tres Demented,
Ultra Naté,
Urselle,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
A Flock of Seagulls,
The Durutti Column,
Chris & Cosey,
Dave Gahan,
Peter & Gordon,
Harpers Bizarre,
Gerry Rafferty,
Joy Division,
Rapeman,
Organ,
Oblivians,
Stockholm Monsters,
Soft Cell,
David McCallum,
Erasure,
L. Decosne,
Roy Ayers, Roy Ayers, Roy Ayers, Roy Ayers.
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.