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 Iraq and from Glasgow.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 1980 at the first Cybotron practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the chamberlin 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 Vladislav Delay to the funk kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Gun Club. All the underground hits.
All Andrew Hill tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Quadrant 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Eyeless In Gaza record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Minutemen,
Bob Dylan,
Hashim,
The Mummies,
Peter & Gordon,
Rapeman,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Unwound,
Morten Harket,
The Human League,
The Busters,
Spandau Ballet,
Young Marble Giants,
Pole,
Jerry's Kids,
Smog,
Colin Newman,
Wolf Eyes,
Mission of Burma,
Supertramp,
Brand Nubian,
The Young Rascals,
The Red Krayola,
Los Fastidios,
Index,
Gabor Szabo,
Quando Quango,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Lindisfarne,
Rosa Yemen,
Ken Boothe,
Infiniti,
Matthew Halsall,
Y Pants,
Zapp,
Animal Collective,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Terrestrial Tones,
Sonic Youth,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
ABC,
Lungfish,
MDC,
Pantytec,
Cecil Taylor,
Connie Case,
Grey Daturas,
Glenn Branca,
Faraquet,
Jeru the Damaja,
Hasil Adkins,
Pussy Galore,
New York Dolls,
The Dirtbombs,
the Swans,
Camberwell Now,
Ralphi Rosario,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
The Seeds,
Sex Pistols,
Mars,
The Real Kids,
EPMD, EPMD, EPMD, EPMD.
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.