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 Morocco and from Manchester.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1964 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tokyo and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Gabor Szabo to the techno kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Erasure. All the underground hits.
All Bad Manners tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gang Starr record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bobby Womack,
Zapp,
Sexual Harrassment,
The Monks,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
The Seeds,
Con Funk Shun,
Average White Band,
Los Fastidios,
F. McDonald,
Basic Channel,
Throbbing Gristle,
Lalo Schifrin,
Underground Resistance,
Porter Ricks,
MC5,
Marshall Jefferson,
Glambeats Corp.,
the Human League,
Blake Baxter,
JFA,
The Fall,
Guru Guru,
Cecil Taylor,
Kayak,
The Fire Engines,
Black Moon,
Sex Pistols,
Sister Nancy,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Lebanon Hanover,
The Cowsills,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Wolf Eyes,
Deepchord,
Robert Hood,
Charles Mingus,
Talk Talk,
Quando Quango,
Blossom Toes,
Mark Hollis,
Lee Hazlewood,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Ohio Players,
Mission of Burma,
Stockholm Monsters,
Suicide,
Intrusion,
The Evens,
Pantaleimon,
Hoover,
Eli Mardock,
Scientists,
Cal Tjader,
Flash Fearless,
Livin' Joy,
The Kinks,
Althea and Donna,
Aural Exciters, Aural Exciters, Aural Exciters, Aural Exciters.
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.