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 Andorra and from Taipei.
But I was there.
I was there in 1984.
I was there at the first Arcadia 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 1964 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Salvador 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 Tom Verlaine 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 Pulsallama to the punk 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 Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch. All the underground hits.
All Silicon Teens tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Arcadia 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Danielle Patucci record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Oppenheimer Analysis,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Metal Thangz,
Tropical Tobacco,
Graham Central Station,
Sonny Sharrock,
The Gap Band,
The Angels of Light,
The Velvet Underground,
Banda Bassotti,
Crime,
Saccharine Trust,
Urselle,
Shoche,
The Sonics,
Johnny Clarke,
Black Sheep,
Dorothy Ashby,
Ludus,
Shuggie Otis,
Tears for Fears,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
E-Dancer,
The Vogues,
Los Fastidios,
The J.B.'s,
The Sound,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
The Fire Engines,
Nils Olav,
Icehouse,
Sam Rivers,
Bang On A Can,
Judy Mowatt,
Avey Tare,
Gong,
The Mummies,
The Flesh Eaters,
Frankie Knuckles,
Charles Mingus,
Newcleus,
Faraquet,
Flipper,
Soft Cell,
The Young Rascals,
Funkadelic,
Tim Buckley,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Susan Cadogan,
China Crisis,
Pylon,
Ultimate Spinach,
Don Cherry,
The Modern Lovers,
Mr. Review,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Eric Copeland,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
The Doors,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Flash Fearless,
Oneida, Oneida, Oneida, Oneida.
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.