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 Zimbabwe and from Milan.
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 1966 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 spring reverb 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 Zero Boys to the electroclash kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 FM Einheit. All the underground hits.
All The Royal Family And The Poor tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Negative Approach record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 oboe and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Matthew Halsall 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?
Malaria!,
Kenny Larkin,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Gichy Dan,
Heaven 17,
The Slackers,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Sight & Sound,
Y Pants,
Avey Tare,
Black Sheep,
Brick,
Lightning Bolt,
The Fortunes,
Isaac Hayes,
Ultravox,
Mo-Dettes,
Cecil Taylor,
Fad Gadget,
Pharoah Sanders,
Visage,
Hashim,
LL Cool J,
Gerry Rafferty,
Goldenarms,
Little Man,
The American Breed,
Altered Images,
Smog,
Skarface,
The Electric Prunes,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Parry Music,
The Smoke,
Maleditus Sound,
Grauzone,
Arcadia,
Pylon,
The Names,
Eve St. Jones,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Surgeon,
Moebius,
Gang Starr,
Trumans Water,
Sällskapet,
Terry Callier,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Fela Kuti,
Royal Trux,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Boogie Down Productions,
Todd Terry,
The Wake,
the Bar-Kays,
Juan Atkins,
Terrestrial Tones,
Talk Talk,
Circle Jerks,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Schoolly D,
Crooked Eye, Crooked Eye, Crooked Eye, Crooked Eye.
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.