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 Salvador.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South 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 1962 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Halifax and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 güiro sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Black Moon to the techno kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Erykah Badu. All the underground hits.
All Dave Gahan tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Grass Roots record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco 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 chamberlin and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Gories record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
John Cale,
The Black Dice,
Monks,
Rapeman,
The Litter,
Panda Bear,
Altered Images,
Sandy B,
The Martian,
The Dead C,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
The Walker Brothers,
Ohio Players,
Judy Mowatt,
Harpers Bizarre,
Subhumans,
Public Enemy,
Albert Ayler,
Reagan Youth,
Gregory Isaacs,
Crooked Eye,
Johnny Clarke,
Brothers Johnson,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Jawbox,
Barry Ungar,
The Leaves,
Cecil Taylor,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Max Romeo,
Tears for Fears,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Cabaret Voltaire,
New Age Steppers,
Piero Umiliani,
Robert Hood,
Byron Stingily,
Fat Boys,
Pantaleimon,
The Offenders,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Fad Gadget,
Freddie Wadling,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
The Wake,
Adolescents,
Half Japanese,
Sonny Sharrock,
The Flesh Eaters,
Iggy Pop,
Thompson Twins,
Eve St. Jones,
Talk Talk,
Arcadia,
Robert Wyatt,
Minny Pops,
Alice Coltrane,
X-102,
Suburban Knight,
Rhythm & Sound,
T. Rex, T. Rex, T. Rex, T. Rex.
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.