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 Guatemala and from Glasgow.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 1976 at the first Buzzcocks practice in a loft in Bolton.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 Grass Roots to the dance kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Sister Nancy. All the underground hits.
All Gian Franco Pienzio tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sunsets and Hearts record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sam Rivers record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Barrington Levy,
Urselle,
Man Parrish,
Beasts of Bourbon,
These Immortal Souls,
Soul II Soul,
Andrew Hill,
The Sonics,
Al Stewart,
the Germs,
Japan,
Subhumans,
Pylon,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Minny Pops,
The Last Poets,
Suburban Knight,
Bluetip,
Surgeon,
John Lydon,
Rhythm & Sound,
Pussy Galore,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Panda Bear,
Tommy Roe,
Stiv Bators,
Angry Samoans,
Chris & Cosey,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Television,
Altered Images,
Bill Near,
The Blues Magoos,
Bush Tetras,
Darondo,
Blancmange,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Jesper Dahlback,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Ituana,
Kayak,
Au Pairs,
The Alarm Clocks,
Television Personalities,
The Fall,
Model 500,
Janne Schatter,
Grandmaster Flash,
The Dead C,
Mark Hollis,
Anakelly,
David McCallum,
Frankie Knuckles,
Joensuu 1685,
Qualms,
Oneida,
Loose Ends,
The J.B.'s,
Absolute Body Control,
Desert Stars,
Marmalade,
UT,
Trumans Water,
John Holt, John Holt, John Holt, John Holt.
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.