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 Libya and from Lyon.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1969 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Spokane and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Pussy Galore to the grime kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Desert Stars. All the underground hits.
All John Lydon tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Richard Hell and the Voidoids 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Kango’s Stein Massive record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Andrew Hill,
Dorothy Ashby,
June Days,
The Selecter,
Lalo Schifrin,
Blossom Toes,
Dennis Brown,
The Shadows of Knight,
Organ,
The Invisible,
Lou Christie,
James White and The Blacks,
Maurizio,
Grauzone,
B.T. Express,
Dark Day,
Soul Sonic Force,
Depeche Mode,
Mission of Burma,
Groovy Waters,
The Walker Brothers,
Erasure,
Mars,
The Move,
Crispian St. Peters,
Isaac Hayes,
Dave Gahan,
Sonic Youth,
U.S. Maple,
Interpol,
Harpers Bizarre,
AZ,
Outsiders,
The Offenders,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Throbbing Gristle,
The Standells,
Peter and Kerry,
Hoover,
Judy Mowatt,
Gang Starr,
Icehouse,
Mandrill,
Visage,
Gong,
The Leaves,
June of 44,
The Beau Brummels,
Swell Maps,
Suburban Knight,
Los Fastidios,
The Blues Magoos,
Circle Jerks,
Nils Olav,
Bad Manners,
Todd Terry,
Carl Craig,
Fad Gadget,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Crispy Ambulance, Crispy Ambulance, Crispy Ambulance, Crispy Ambulance.
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.