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 El Salvador and from Mumbai.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide 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 1961 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Edmonton and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Fania All-Stars to the dance kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 PIL. All the underground hits.
All Brothers Johnson tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Jeru the Damaja 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 linndrum and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Ituana record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Darondo,
Sonny Sharrock,
Adolescents,
Das Ding,
Mark Hollis,
Roxy Music,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Charles Mingus,
Severed Heads,
Ultimate Spinach,
The Young Rascals,
Throbbing Gristle,
Basic Channel,
DJ Sneak,
X-Ray Spex,
Avey Tare,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Henry Cow,
MDC,
Television Personalities,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
The Birthday Party,
B.T. Express,
The Dirtbombs,
The Pretty Things,
The Toasters,
One Last Wish,
Wasted Youth,
Rapeman,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Country Teasers,
Joe Finger,
Drexciya,
Oblivians,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Flash Fearless,
Lower 48,
Slave,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
UT,
Swell Maps,
Flamin' Groovies,
Outsiders,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Magma,
Minnie Riperton,
Davy DMX,
Agent Orange,
Technova,
Laurel Aitken,
Japan,
The Mummies,
D'Angelo,
Spoonie Gee,
Crash Course in Science,
The Leaves,
Blossom Toes,
Kayak,
Rhythm & Sound,
Con Funk Shun,
Procol Harum,
Duran Duran, Duran Duran, Duran Duran, Duran Duran.
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.