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 Paraguay and from Manila.
But I was there.
I was there in 1980.
I was there at the first Cybotron show in Detroit.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Houston and Jakarta.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Cairo 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 sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Adolescents to the funk 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 Deepchord. All the underground hits.
All Glenn Branca tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every James White and The Blacks record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime 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 an organ and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Toasters record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Wings,
Lungfish,
Wire,
Lucky Dragons,
Eurythmics,
The Gladiators,
Piero Umiliani,
Joensuu 1685,
Man Eating Sloth,
Henry Cow,
The Golliwogs,
T. Rex,
B.T. Express,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Symarip,
Wasted Youth,
Crispian St. Peters,
DNA,
Japan,
Brothers Johnson,
Marshall Jefferson,
Tears for Fears,
Eric B and Rakim,
Terrestrial Tones,
Skarface,
John Coltrane,
Q and Not U,
Public Image Ltd.,
The Durutti Column,
The Fire Engines,
JFA,
Jacob Miller,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
ABC,
Chris Corsano,
Fad Gadget,
Quantec,
Graham Central Station,
The Monks,
Unrelated Segments,
Tropical Tobacco,
The Last Poets,
Amazonics,
Dawn Penn,
Panda Bear,
The Mummies,
Gerry Rafferty,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Rosa Yemen,
Pierre Henry,
Barbara Tucker,
Con Funk Shun,
Adolescents,
The Beau Brummels,
Metal Thangz,
Jesper Dahlback,
Arthur Verocai,
the Germs,
Faust,
Ultra Naté,
Cluster,
Neu!,
Gang Starr, Gang Starr, Gang Starr, Gang Starr.
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.