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 Saudi Arabia and from Jakarta.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Soft Boys show in Cambridge.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Salvador.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lille 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 guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Germs to the rap kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Public Enemy. All the underground hits.
All Letta Mbulu tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Funky Four + One record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Birthday Party record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Scratch Acid,
Gichy Dan,
The Smoke,
Mr. Review,
Colin Newman,
EPMD,
Hardrive,
Eric Copeland,
Bootsy Collins,
Camouflage,
The Raincoats,
48th St. Collective,
The Seeds,
Rod Modell,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Todd Rundgren,
DNA,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Zapp,
Sarah Menescal,
Bobby Byrd,
Underground Resistance,
Dawn Penn,
The Blackbyrds,
Eli Mardock,
Ice-T,
Mark Hollis,
Masters at Work,
Faust,
PIL,
The Cure,
Josef K,
Ponytail,
Fear,
The Angels of Light,
Johnny Clarke,
Desert Stars,
Sex Pistols,
Cameo,
Flash Fearless,
Judy Mowatt,
Piero Umiliani,
Tom Boy,
Gang Gang Dance,
Mandrill,
The Moleskins,
Althea and Donna,
Jacques Brel,
KRS-One,
The Gladiators,
Minny Pops,
Fugazi,
Das Ding,
The Techniques,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Gang Starr,
Khruangbin,
L. Decosne,
Main Source,
Nirvana,
Alice Coltrane, Alice Coltrane, Alice Coltrane, Alice Coltrane.
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.