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 United Kingdom and from Stockholm.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1961 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Winnipeg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 Michael McDonald 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 Cabaret Voltaire to the techno 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 The Birthday Party. All the underground hits.
All the Normal 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 jazz 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 a güiro and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Wings record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Detroit Cobras,
Barbara Tucker,
Aural Exciters,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Sam Rivers,
Sandy B,
T. Rex,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
The Pretty Things,
Toni Rubio,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Hashim,
Delon & Dalcan,
F. McDonald,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Harry Pussy,
EPMD,
Cal Tjader,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
A Certain Ratio,
the Bar-Kays,
Peter and Kerry,
Parry Music,
Ohio Players,
MC5,
The Grass Roots,
Maurizio,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Shuggie Otis,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Alice Coltrane,
Agitation Free,
Lower 48,
Groovy Waters,
Sister Nancy,
John Lydon,
Tres Demented,
Wings,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Bang On A Can,
Basic Channel,
Public Image Ltd.,
Ultravox,
Japan,
Stockholm Monsters,
Erykah Badu,
Metal Thangz,
Boogie Down Productions,
Scan 7,
Moss Icon,
Half Japanese,
Bad Manners,
Albert Ayler,
Desert Stars,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Franke,
Wasted Youth,
Nirvana,
The Last Poets,
Quantec,
Eric B and Rakim, Eric B and Rakim, Eric B and Rakim, Eric B and Rakim.
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.