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 St Lucia and from Milan.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Art of Noise 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 1960 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Calgary and Mexico City.
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 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 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 Man Parrish to the grime 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 Bang on a Can All-Stars. All the underground hits.
All Gang Starr tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Wally Richardson record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Agent Orange record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
James White and The Blacks,
Ralphi Rosario,
Gang Green,
Franke,
Patti Smith,
Minnie Riperton,
The Cosmic Jokers,
The Knickerbockers,
Soft Cell,
F. McDonald,
The Beau Brummels,
Los Fastidios,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Con Funk Shun,
Roxy Music,
EPMD,
Kerrie Biddell,
Television,
the Germs,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Ituana,
The Toasters,
Depeche Mode,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Vainqueur,
Swell Maps,
Man Parrish,
Andrew Hill,
Buzzcocks,
Mad Mike,
Bauhaus,
Public Enemy,
Arab on Radar,
The Dirtbombs,
Dual Sessions,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Y Pants,
Lebanon Hanover,
The Skatalites,
Excepter,
The Grass Roots,
The American Breed,
Goldenarms,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Mars,
The Fugs,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Bill Near,
Howard Jones,
Bill Wells,
X-Ray Spex,
Hasil Adkins,
Suicide,
H. Thieme,
Crash Course in Science,
Grauzone,
Electric Prunes,
Yazoo,
The Gun Club,
Fatback Band,
DNA, DNA, DNA, DNA.
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.