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 Suriname and from Spokane.
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 1969 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Tokyo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Blancmange to the electroclash kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Pantytec. All the underground hits.
All The Index tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Dead Boys 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a H. Thieme record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Spoonie Gee,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Dead Boys,
The Shadows of Knight,
Skriet,
F. McDonald,
The Last Poets,
Echospace,
Young Marble Giants,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Talk Talk,
Gang Gang Dance,
Scratch Acid,
Traffic Nightmare,
Sly & The Family Stone,
The Beau Brummels,
World's Most,
The Fire Engines,
Nik Kershaw,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Johnny Osbourne,
A Flock of Seagulls,
The Human League,
Bluetip,
Mad Mike,
Scion,
Bang On A Can,
Kerri Chandler,
KRS-One,
Malaria!,
Rites of Spring,
Nirvana,
La Düsseldorf,
Ken Boothe,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
The Stooges,
Scott Walker,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
A Certain Ratio,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Josef K,
Jawbox,
The Dead C,
The Saints,
Marc Almond,
Warren Ellis,
The Index,
Robert Wyatt,
Rapeman,
UT,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Kevin Saunderson,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
The Move,
Bootsy Collins,
Kenny Larkin,
Wasted Youth,
Nils Olav,
Robert Hood,
CMW,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu, Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu, Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu, Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu.
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.