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 Hungary and from Calgary.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1965 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Portland.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bremen 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 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 Joyce Sims to the disco kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Fad Gadget. All the underground hits.
All Sad Lovers and Giants tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Minny Pops 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Connie Case record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bill Wells,
Electric Prunes,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Guru Guru,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Nico,
Flipper,
Symarip,
Todd Rundgren,
Ronan,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Surgeon,
Country Teasers,
Jimmy McGriff,
Rakim,
Spandau Ballet,
Robert Hood,
Mission of Burma,
Jeff Lynne,
Gong,
Easy Going,
Alice Coltrane,
Black Bananas,
Dual Sessions,
The Grass Roots,
Skriet,
Drexciya,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Reuben Wilson,
Gastr Del Sol,
Cymande,
Eurythmics,
Roxy Music,
Tubeway Army,
Bang On A Can,
Adolescents,
Eric Copeland,
Isaac Hayes,
The Toasters,
Hardrive,
Khruangbin,
Sister Nancy,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
MC5,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Maurizio,
Gil Scott Heron,
Black Pus,
Big Daddy Kane,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Gichy Dan,
Malaria!,
Sugar Minott,
Soulsonic Force,
Ossler,
The Sound,
A Certain Ratio,
Technova,
Excepter,
Nick Fraelich,
Man Eating Sloth,
Fela Kuti,
Lou Christie,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Circle Jerks, Circle Jerks, Circle Jerks, Circle Jerks.
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.