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 Equatorial Guinea and from Delhi.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1967 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and Portland.
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 1978 at the first Visage 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 June Days to the funk 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 Bootsy Collins. All the underground hits.
All World's Most tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Angels of Light record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Throbbing Gristle record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Tommy Roe,
The Doors,
The Move,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Second Layer,
Dark Day,
The Buckinghams,
Pantaleimon,
These Immortal Souls,
Section 25,
Rhythm & Sound,
The Litter,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Slick Rick,
Organ,
Pierre Henry,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Robert Hood,
James White and The Blacks,
Ultra Naté,
Niagra,
Quando Quango,
The Fugs,
Piero Umiliani,
Kaleidoscope,
The United States of America,
Delon & Dalcan,
The Victims,
Todd Terry,
The Mojo Men,
Lyres,
The Residents,
Urselle,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Absolute Body Control,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Gabor Szabo,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Sexual Harrassment,
Lou Christie,
Theoretical Girls,
The Gun Club,
Lalann,
Gong,
H. Thieme,
John Lydon,
the Soft Cell,
David Bowie,
ABC,
Kerri Chandler,
Deakin,
the Slits,
T. Rex,
Liliput,
The Gap Band,
Ronan,
Slave,
Arcadia,
Rekid,
Carl Craig,
The Dave Clark Five,
Lungfish,
Soul II Soul, Soul II Soul, Soul II Soul, Soul II Soul.
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.