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 Monaco and from Calgary.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
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 1968 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 David Bowie 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 Dead C to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Country Joe & The Fish. All the underground hits.
All Anakelly tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Cheater Slicks record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk 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 spring reverb and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Idris Muhammad record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Desert Stars,
Skarface,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Simply Red,
Max Romeo,
Shoche,
Cabaret Voltaire,
The Seeds,
Black Pus,
Yaz,
Mary Jane Girls,
Grauzone,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Blancmange,
Harry Pussy,
Sexual Harrassment,
In Retrospect,
The Saints,
Amazonics,
Wolf Eyes,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
The Victims,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Beasts of Bourbon,
The Monochrome Set,
Wire,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Ronan,
Josef K,
Magma,
The Last Poets,
The Standells,
Television Personalities,
The Gun Club,
Severed Heads,
The Evens,
The Selecter,
Fat Boys,
The Fall,
John Lydon,
New Age Steppers,
Black Bananas,
Black Moon,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Kas Product,
Pole,
The Smiths,
Sugar Minott,
Silicon Teens,
The Slits,
Q65,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Agitation Free,
The Gladiators,
The Shadows of Knight,
Pussy Galore,
Prince Buster,
Black Flag,
Von Mondo,
Section 25,
8 Eyed Spy, 8 Eyed Spy, 8 Eyed Spy, 8 Eyed Spy.
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.