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 Indonesia and from Bremen.
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 1966 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Index 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 Gary Puckett & The Union Gap. All the underground hits.
All The Mummies tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Electric Prunes 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Piero Umiliani record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Harry Pussy,
Archie Shepp,
Rosa Yemen,
Ultra Naté,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
The Grass Roots,
Pulsallama,
Ralphi Rosario,
U.S. Maple,
Gang of Four,
Mandrill,
Terry Callier,
Gong,
Loose Ends,
Jeff Mills,
Lee Hazlewood,
The Detroit Cobras,
Marc Almond,
Eric B and Rakim,
Mr. Review,
The Last Poets,
Ronan,
Roger Hodgson,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
D'Angelo,
The Victims,
Tomorrow,
World's Most,
The Busters,
Eyeless In Gaza,
The Tremeloes,
Susan Cadogan,
Aural Exciters,
Big Daddy Kane,
Reagan Youth,
Mo-Dettes,
Sun City Girls,
Bobby Sherman,
Donny Hathaway,
Colin Newman,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Sticky Fingaz feat. Raekwon,
Underground Resistance,
Suburban Knight,
The Monks,
Bill Wells,
DJ Sneak,
Camron Feat. Jay Z And Juelz,
John Coltrane,
Second Layer,
Lucky Dragons,
Harpers Bizarre,
Morten Harket,
The Motions,
Slave,
Sound Behaviour,
Spoonie Gee,
The Seeds,
DJ Style,
Amazonics,
Freddie Wadling,
Nils Olav,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Oblivians,
Motorama, Motorama, Motorama, Motorama.
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.