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 Finland and from Salvador.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1966 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Edmonton 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 sitar 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 Stiv Bators to the disco kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Tears for Fears tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Depeche Mode record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Scan 7 record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pussy Galore,
the Normal,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Reuben Wilson,
Liliput,
Patti Smith,
The Martian,
Freddie Wadling,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Sly & The Family Stone,
The Fortunes,
The Stooges,
Traffic Nightmare,
The Litter,
Harry Pussy,
The Last Poets,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
H. Thieme,
U.S. Maple,
CMW,
The Dirtbombs,
Ralphi Rosario,
Minnie Riperton,
Hoover,
kango's stein massive,
Nas,
Cheater Slicks,
Soft Machine,
DNA,
B.T. Express,
Neu!,
Dave Gahan,
David Bowie,
Black Moon,
Marc Almond,
Dawn Penn,
China Crisis,
Big Daddy Kane,
T. Rex,
Sun Ra,
Mr. Review,
Panda Bear,
The Index,
The Moody Blues,
Buzzcocks,
X-102,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Crooked Eye,
Mandrill,
Gang Green,
Eddi Front,
Curtis Mayfield,
Letta Mbulu,
New Order,
Television Personalities,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Tres Demented,
Tom Boy,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Black Bananas,
Con Funk Shun,
Monks, Monks, Monks, Monks.
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.