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 Kiribati and from Halifax.
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 1962 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 1987 at the first Nirvana practice in a loft in Seattle.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 Oppenheimer Analysis to the techno 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 Marmalade. All the underground hits.
All Man Parrish tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Brand Nubian 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Grauzone record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Scientists,
The Tremeloes,
Tom Boy,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Nico,
Bauhaus,
The Evens,
Connie Case,
Mary Jane Girls,
Amon Düül,
The Sound,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
The Durutti Column,
The Angels of Light,
Sarah Menescal,
Animal Collective,
Tropical Tobacco,
Lungfish,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
The Detroit Cobras,
Derrick May,
Anakelly,
Barbara Tucker,
Inner City,
Black Pus,
Lou Christie,
Don Cherry,
Wally Richardson,
John Lydon,
Radio Birdman,
Monks,
Whodini,
Minutemen,
Bill Near,
The Young Rascals,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Bush Tetras,
Neu!,
A Certain Ratio,
Donny Hathaway,
Aswad,
Bang On A Can,
Robert Wyatt,
Zero Boys,
Skriet,
Rites of Spring,
Scion,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Babytalk,
Aloha Tigers,
the Bar-Kays,
Monolake,
Qualms,
Absolute Body Control,
Cybotron,
Cheater Slicks,
Lindisfarne,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Shoche,
The Invisible,
Kas Product,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Oppenheimer Analysis, Oppenheimer Analysis, Oppenheimer Analysis, Oppenheimer Analysis.
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.