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 Bhutan and from Jakarta.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 1984 at the first Arcadia practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Real Kids to the punk 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 Fad Gadget. All the underground hits.
All Eli Mardock tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Peanut Butter Conspiracy record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz 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 chamberlin and a harpsichord 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 808 and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Fortunes,
The Offenders,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Davy DMX,
Reagan Youth,
The Index,
Rosa Yemen,
a-ha,
Erykah Badu,
June Days,
Camouflage,
Nico,
The Leaves,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Banda Bassotti,
Bill Near,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Shuggie Otis,
Quantec,
Oneida,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Technova,
Animal Collective,
FM Einheit,
Roy Ayers,
Godley & Creme,
Anakelly,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Depeche Mode,
T. Rex,
Index,
Severed Heads,
Sugar Minott,
Al Stewart,
ABC,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Section 25,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Hasil Adkins,
Mo-Dettes,
Crash Course in Science,
The Saints,
Supertramp,
Matthew Bourne,
The Happenings,
Alphaville,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Junior Murvin,
Henry Cow,
Lyres,
Tropical Tobacco,
The Alarm Clocks,
DJ Sneak,
The Gun Club,
Bad Manners,
Bill Wells,
Qualms,
JFA,
The Fall,
Dave Gahan,
Wire,
Public Image Ltd.,
The Vogues,
The Residents, The Residents, The Residents, The Residents.
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.