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 Georgia and from Paris.
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 1966 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Hong Kong.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Hong Kong 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 marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Eric Copeland to the crunk kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Gregory Isaacs. All the underground hits.
All Vladislav Delay tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sticky Fingaz feat. Raekwon 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gastr Del Sol record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Swell Maps,
Nick Fraelich,
Chrome,
Japan,
Half Japanese,
Todd Rundgren,
Letta Mbulu,
Roxy Music,
Masters at Work,
Man Eating Sloth,
Andrew Hill,
kango's stein massive,
The Velvet Underground,
Jawbox,
Mission of Burma,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Colin Newman,
Radiopuhelimet,
Morten Harket,
Absolute Body Control,
Bootsy Collins,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
One Last Wish,
8 Eyed Spy,
The Music Machine,
Gabor Szabo,
Glenn Branca,
The Flesh Eaters,
DJ Style,
Gregory Isaacs,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Infiniti,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Rekid,
K-Klass,
The Gladiators,
Wally Richardson,
Hoover,
Severed Heads,
Tres Demented,
The Slackers,
Kurtis Blow,
D'Angelo,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Albert Ayler,
Qualms,
Q65,
Camouflage,
The Moody Blues,
The Seeds,
Brick,
The Mummies,
Matthew Bourne,
Steve Hackett,
Black Pus,
The Tremeloes,
The American Breed,
Cluster,
Gang Starr,
Lou Christie,
Eve St. Jones,
Pagans, Pagans, Pagans, Pagans.
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.