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 Syria and from Salvador.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tokyo and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lyon 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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Red Lorry Yellow Lorry to the rap kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Bush Tetras. All the underground hits.
All Lucky Dragons tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Fortunes record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 a marimba and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Fat Boys record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Oppenheimer Analysis,
The Evens,
Echospace,
The Detroit Cobras,
Camouflage,
A Flock of Seagulls,
The Count Five,
Yusef Lateef,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Sonny Sharrock,
Leonard Cohen,
Don Cherry,
Minny Pops,
Bobbi Humphrey,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Nation of Ulysses,
Maurizio,
The Doobie Brothers,
The Shadows of Knight,
The Sound,
Malaria!,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Ultimate Spinach,
David Bowie,
Clear Light,
Eric B and Rakim,
Jawbox,
The Raincoats,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
It's A Beautiful Day,
The United States of America,
John Coltrane,
The Mummies,
Procol Harum,
Eurythmics,
Television Personalities,
Iggy Pop,
Popol Vuh,
Judy Mowatt,
Pantytec,
Todd Terry,
Nils Olav,
Scan 7,
Cameo,
Black Pus,
Dual Sessions,
Blake Baxter,
Anthony Braxton,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
DJ Style,
Glambeats Corp.,
Con Funk Shun,
Jeff Mills,
Big Daddy Kane,
Blossom Toes,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Siglo XX,
Josef K,
Lalo Schifrin,
John Lydon,
Isaac Hayes,
Faust,
Au Pairs, Au Pairs, Au Pairs, Au Pairs.
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.