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 Colombia and from Madrid.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1960 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Men They Couldn't Hang to the techno kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Kevin Saunderson. All the underground hits.
All Massinfluence tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The New Christs 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Eve St. Jones record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ponytail,
Hardrive,
Wasted Youth,
Bill Wells,
E-Dancer,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Pussy Galore,
MC5,
Eve St. Jones,
Cybotron,
Kool Moe Dee,
Icehouse,
Dawn Penn,
John Cale,
The Doobie Brothers,
Goldenarms,
Henry Cow,
Gregory Isaacs,
Talk Talk,
Erasure,
Scientists,
Matthew Halsall,
The Sonics,
Arthur Verocai,
Q and Not U,
Ultra Naté,
the Human League,
Flash Fearless,
Michelle Simonal,
The Raincoats,
Soft Machine,
Albert Ayler,
The Cramps,
Sight & Sound,
Johnny Clarke,
The Busters,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Grandmaster Flash,
Donald Byrd,
Curtis Mayfield,
The Dirtbombs,
Tears for Fears,
The Fire Engines,
The Martian,
ABC,
Marvin Gaye,
Man Parrish,
Byron Stingily,
Rapeman,
New York Dolls,
Section 25,
The Star Department,
Gabor Szabo,
The Vogues,
The Detroit Cobras,
Ronan,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Interpol,
Tubeway Army,
Suicide,
Wire,
Brand Nubian,
Bauhaus, Bauhaus, Bauhaus, Bauhaus.
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.