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 Gambia and from Manila.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1960 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Salvador.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 synthesizer 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 The Peanut Butter Conspiracy to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Deakin. All the underground hits.
All The American Breed tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Chris Corsano 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Be Bop Deluxe record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Adolescents,
Archie Shepp,
Matthew Bourne,
Little Man,
These Immortal Souls,
The Doors,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Suburban Knight,
Barrington Levy,
Eve St. Jones,
The Fuzztones,
Ralphi Rosario,
Babytalk,
Depeche Mode,
Goldenarms,
Flash Fearless,
The Smoke,
Pole,
PIL,
Fluxion,
The Gladiators,
The Residents,
Stetsasonic,
The Blackbyrds,
Lebanon Hanover,
Niagra,
Panda Bear,
Y Pants,
Faust,
Lindisfarne,
Scion,
Vladislav Delay,
Brick,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Loose Ends,
The Electric Prunes,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Beasts of Bourbon,
the Soft Cell,
Janne Schatter,
Bluetip,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
Rosa Yemen,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Neil Young,
Youth Brigade,
Gang of Four,
Aural Exciters,
Scientists,
the Sonics,
Sister Nancy,
Basic Channel,
Sonic Youth,
Surgeon,
The Sound,
The J.B.'s,
Organ,
Throbbing Gristle,
Agitation Free,
Johnny Osbourne,
UT,
Man Eating Sloth, Man Eating Sloth, Man Eating Sloth, Man Eating Sloth.
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.