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 Canada and from Lagos.
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 1960 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Tokyo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 2001 at the first Tiga practice in a loft in Montreal.
I was working on the linndrum 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 Television Personalities to the funk kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 The Litter. All the underground hits.
All The Sisters of Mercy tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every One Last Wish record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Ultravox record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Cecil Taylor,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Mr. Review,
Curtis Mayfield,
Pierre Henry,
Reuben Wilson,
MC5,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Wire,
The Birthday Party,
Joe Finger,
Goldenarms,
Matthew Halsall,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
DNA,
Procol Harum,
Matthew Bourne,
Electric Prunes,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Amon Düül II,
Fear,
Kaleidoscope,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Darondo,
AZ,
Thee Headcoats,
Cameo,
Au Pairs,
Ralphi Rosario,
Buzzcocks,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Wasted Youth,
Marmalade,
Blancmange,
Severed Heads,
New Age Steppers,
Fat Boys,
Althea and Donna,
Eric B and Rakim,
EPMD,
Laurel Aitken,
Camouflage,
Cluster,
Clear Light,
Grandmaster Flash,
Morten Harket,
DJ Style,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Lakeside,
Little Man,
Lalann,
Cheater Slicks,
Rakim,
Zapp,
The Litter,
The Young Rascals,
Sam Rivers,
Black Pus,
In Retrospect,
Babytalk, Babytalk, Babytalk, Babytalk.
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.