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 Denmark and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1966 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Jakarta 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 arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Talk Talk to the rock kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Main Source. All the underground hits.
All Pere Ubu tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Teenage Jesus and the Jerks record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Notorious Big And Bone Thugs record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Procol Harum,
Eddi Front,
Agent Orange,
The Blackbyrds,
Dorothy Ashby,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Bobby Byrd,
The Grass Roots,
The Victims,
Gang of Four,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Man Parrish,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
The Alarm Clocks,
Roger Hodgson,
Ronnie Foster,
Angry Samoans,
Deakin,
The Monks,
Marvin Gaye,
a-ha,
Scion,
K-Klass,
Ponytail,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Nico,
Flamin' Groovies,
Nik Kershaw,
Das Ding,
Lower 48,
Deepchord,
Rod Modell,
Archie Shepp,
The Electric Prunes,
The Doors,
Stiv Bators,
Sun Ra,
The United States of America,
The Knickerbockers,
Oblivians,
Kurtis Blow,
Altered Images,
The Pretty Things,
The Music Machine,
Man Eating Sloth,
Gregory Isaacs,
Jesper Dahlback,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Organ,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Mission of Burma,
The Cowsills,
Susan Cadogan,
Minutemen,
Joe Smooth,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Grey Daturas,
Freddie Wadling,
Quadrant,
Rhythm & Sound,
Animal Collective,
Cybotron, Cybotron, Cybotron, Cybotron.
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.