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 Philippines and from Spokane.
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 1964 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 1983 at the first Lewis practice in a loft in Vancouver.
I was working on the mellotron 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 Sly & The Family Stone to the funk 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 Silicon Teens. All the underground hits.
All Fad Gadget tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Dorothy Ashby record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock 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 harpsichord and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Slackers record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Black Pus,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Aaron Thompson,
The Smoke,
Mary Jane Girls,
Moby Grape,
Bootsy Collins,
Marcia Griffiths,
Pussy Galore,
Niagra,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Black Flag,
The Gap Band,
Simply Red,
John Cale,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Henry Cow,
Lightning Bolt,
Aswad,
Matthew Halsall,
Symarip,
The Birthday Party,
Swans,
Heaven 17,
Radiohead,
Oneida,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Marc Almond,
Barry Ungar,
Echospace,
ABC,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Anakelly,
Hashim,
Crooked Eye,
The Monks,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
F. McDonald,
Brass Construction,
Fat Boys,
Robert Wyatt,
Jerry Gold Smith,
John Holt,
Minny Pops,
The Velvet Underground,
The Tremeloes,
Fatback Band,
Andrew Hill,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
The Golliwogs,
Von Mondo,
The Kinks,
Pole,
The Doobie Brothers,
Anthony Braxton,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Audionom,
The J.B.'s,
cv313, cv313, cv313, cv313.
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.