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 Tanzania and from Taipei.
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 1966 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manila and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 1983 at the first Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the guitar 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 Delta 5 to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Mission of Burma. All the underground hits.
All H. Thieme tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Saints record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Animal Collective record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Boredoms,
Glenn Branca,
The Saints,
The Fire Engines,
Carl Craig,
Zapp,
The Buckinghams,
June of 44,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Ice-T,
Deepchord,
Audionom,
K-Klass,
D'Angelo,
Y Pants,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
the Slits,
Gang of Four,
Schoolly D,
Mary Jane Girls,
OOIOO,
The Tremeloes,
The Zeros,
Andrew Hill,
Grey Daturas,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Al Stewart,
Dennis Brown,
Ten City,
The Music Machine,
Barrington Levy,
Smog,
Symarip,
Marc Almond,
Camberwell Now,
Crispian St. Peters,
Visage,
The Dead C,
Pere Ubu,
Vainqueur,
These Immortal Souls,
Donny Hathaway,
the Human League,
The American Breed,
The Angels of Light,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
The Trojans,
Dawn Penn,
Max Romeo,
The Names,
Stereo Dub,
Barbara Tucker,
Alphaville,
Ultimate Spinach,
Young Marble Giants,
Gregory Isaacs,
the Association,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
David Bowie,
H. Thieme,
Magazine, Magazine, Magazine, Magazine.
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.