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 Bahrain and from New York.
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 1967 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Mission of Burma to the techno kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Jesper Dahlbäck. All the underground hits.
All Inner City tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every New York Dolls record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Funky Four + One record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bobbi Humphrey,
Jeff Lynne,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Sixth Finger,
Sam Rivers,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Sun City Girls,
The Stooges,
John Lydon,
Gichy Dan,
the Slits,
John Cale,
Marc Almond,
The Moleskins,
The Gap Band,
JFA,
Dual Sessions,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
The Five Americans,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Crispy Ambulance,
Gerry Rafferty,
Kenny Larkin,
Pole,
La Düsseldorf,
Juan Atkins,
Patti Smith,
Jacob Miller,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Absolute Body Control,
Wings,
Young Marble Giants,
Neil Young,
Yusef Lateef,
Alphaville,
Visage,
AZ,
Scan 7,
the Swans,
Minnie Riperton,
Scratch Acid,
Hot Snakes,
Brass Construction,
Das Ding,
Reuben Wilson,
The Real Kids,
Icehouse,
The Birthday Party,
K-Klass,
The Beau Brummels,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Black Sheep,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Malaria!,
Avey Tare,
Chris Corsano,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Babytalk,
Pulsallama,
Quando Quango,
Shoche, Shoche, Shoche, Shoche.
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.