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 Slovakia and from New York.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Zapp show in Hamilton.
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 1965 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 American Breed to the disco 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 Janne Schatter. All the underground hits.
All Bush Tetras tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Jeff Lynne 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Last Poets record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
B.T. Express,
Sällskapet,
Davy DMX,
Isaac Hayes,
Jacob Miller,
The Selecter,
The Saints,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
The Zeros,
JFA,
Q65,
Fear,
Tropical Tobacco,
The Motions,
Lungfish,
The Barracudas,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Supertramp,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
The Residents,
Scrapy,
Grandmaster Flash,
Marcia Griffiths,
Surgeon,
Andrew Hill,
Procol Harum,
Joy Division,
David Bowie,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
Rites of Spring,
Laurel Aitken,
Subhumans,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Audionom,
The Vogues,
The Red Krayola,
Henry Cow,
John Lydon,
H. Thieme,
Theoretical Girls,
Marc Almond,
Inner City,
Panda Bear,
The Skatalites,
ABBA,
Lucky Dragons,
Bobby Womack,
The Birthday Party,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Organ,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Connie Case,
Scott Walker,
Wings,
Eric Dolphy,
Bizarre Inc.,
Sparks,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Echospace,
Lee Hazlewood,
Sexual Harrassment, Sexual Harrassment, Sexual Harrassment, Sexual Harrassment.
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.