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 Ecuador and from Beijing.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle 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 1968 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lille and Salvador.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 1976 at the first Buzzcocks practice in a loft in Bolton.
I was working on the mellotron 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 Au Pairs to the punk kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Yellowson. All the underground hits.
All Angry Samoans tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Durutti Column record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
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 Frankie Knuckles record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Graham Central Station,
Eric B and Rakim,
Pantaleimon,
Los Fastidios,
Porter Ricks,
Electric Prunes,
Unrelated Segments,
Ten City,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Sex Pistols,
the Normal,
Marcia Griffiths,
Maurizio,
Wire,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
the Fania All-Stars,
The Last Poets,
Rekid,
Marmalade,
Angry Samoans,
Sight & Sound,
Bronski Beat,
Skriet,
Drexciya,
Reagan Youth,
Blake Baxter,
Slick Rick,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
The Searchers,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Chris Corsano,
Pharoah Sanders,
Khruangbin,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Sound Behaviour,
The Seeds,
Qualms,
Todd Terry,
Silicon Teens,
Skarface,
Excepter,
Bad Manners,
Crispian St. Peters,
Ohio Players,
Anthony Braxton,
Danielle Patucci,
the Swans,
Visage,
Altered Images,
Interpol,
The Slackers,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Television,
Sister Nancy,
Radio Birdman,
Stockholm Monsters,
Ossler,
Depeche Mode,
Kevin Saunderson,
Ornette Coleman, Ornette Coleman, Ornette Coleman, Ornette Coleman.
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.