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 Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South 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 1961 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Seoul 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 spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Brand Nubian to the crunk 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 Morten Harket. All the underground hits.
All Prince Buster tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every London Community Gospel Choir record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 chamberlin and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Bauhaus record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Oneida,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
The Associates,
Spoonie Gee,
Archie Shepp,
Alphaville,
Man Eating Sloth,
The Cramps,
Matthew Halsall,
The Martian,
Crime,
Ituana,
The Buckinghams,
Scion,
Saccharine Trust,
Yusef Lateef,
Tomorrow,
Vainqueur,
Eric Copeland,
Sight & Sound,
Tommy Roe,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Slick Rick,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Smog,
Jeff Mills,
The Divine Comedy,
Fluxion,
The United States of America,
John Cale,
Fort Wilson Riot,
The Move,
The Offenders,
Von Mondo,
U.S. Maple,
Monks,
Roy Ayers,
Sister Nancy,
Chrome,
Bootsy Collins,
Buzzcocks,
David McCallum,
The Blues Magoos,
This Heat,
Sex Pistols,
Marc Almond,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Accadde A,
Thompson Twins,
The Slackers,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Jacob Miller,
Dorothy Ashby,
Flipper,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Agitation Free,
Q65,
Godley & Creme,
Outsiders,
Boredoms,
Joe Smooth,
Eric B and Rakim,
the Sonics, the Sonics, the Sonics, the Sonics.
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.