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 Kenya and from Bremen.
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 1965 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Woodstock.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 1977 at the first Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the guitar 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 The Cosmic Jokers to the disco kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Terry Callier. All the underground hits.
All Depeche Mode tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bush Tetras record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ronan,
Eurythmics,
The Last Poets,
Henry Cow,
John Holt,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Spandau Ballet,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Sugar Minott,
Gil Scott Heron,
Letta Mbulu,
The Fortunes,
ABC,
The Five Americans,
Albert Ayler,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
The Knickerbockers,
Man Eating Sloth,
Pierre Henry,
Yellowson,
The Vogues,
The Stooges,
Cymande,
Goldenarms,
The Neon Judgement,
UT,
Neil Young,
Scott Walker,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Crime,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
John Cale,
Fluxion,
Terry Callier,
Marshall Jefferson,
the Slits,
Sixth Finger,
Bobby Sherman,
Black Sheep,
Eden Ahbez,
Wally Richardson,
Amon Düül,
The Smiths,
Skaos,
Cameo,
Basic Channel,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Spoonie Gee,
Joensuu 1685,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Cal Tjader,
Amon Düül II,
Erykah Badu,
Unwound,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
Ice-T,
Radiohead,
The Names,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Traffic Nightmare,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo, Kool G Rap & DJ Polo, Kool G Rap & DJ Polo, Kool G Rap & DJ Polo.
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.