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 Uganda and from Columbus.
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 1963 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 1983 at the first Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Eric Dolphy to the dance kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Eric Copeland. All the underground hits.
All Marcia Griffiths tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Funky Four + One record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sixth Finger record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Half Japanese,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Bronski Beat,
Subhumans,
Babytalk,
Bauhaus,
The Detroit Cobras,
Malaria!,
Motorama,
Nas,
Oneida,
Josef K,
Kevin Saunderson,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Cheater Slicks,
DJ Sneak,
The Saints,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Livin' Joy,
Rod Modell,
Bob Dylan,
Scrapy,
Curtis Mayfield,
The Dead C,
Matthew Bourne,
Das Ding,
Skarface,
X-Ray Spex,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Glambeats Corp.,
Los Fastidios,
Quadrant,
The Alarm Clocks,
Black Flag,
Marcia Griffiths,
The Invisible,
Aswad,
Angry Samoans,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
The Martian,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Man Parrish,
Panda Bear,
Hoover,
T.S.O.L.,
The Selecter,
Jimmy McGriff,
Johnny Clarke,
Stiv Bators,
ABBA,
Barclay James Harvest,
Zapp,
Lucky Dragons,
Johnny Osbourne,
The Move,
Ultravox,
Minny Pops,
Don Cherry,
The Divine Comedy,
Brass Construction,
Drexciya,
Blancmange,
Hardrive, Hardrive, Hardrive, Hardrive.
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.