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 Kazakhstan and from Copenhagen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Wire show in Watford.
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 Halifax and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lyon 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 theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Black Pus to the rock 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 Silicon Teens. All the underground hits.
All Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Junior Murvin record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Albert Ayler record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Steve Hackett,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Henry Cow,
Dave Gahan,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Subhumans,
Kayak,
Sarah Menescal,
Oblivians,
Max Romeo,
Skriet,
The Pretty Things,
Johnny Clarke,
Jacques Brel,
Kerrie Biddell,
Supertramp,
Pharoah Sanders,
Stiv Bators,
Loose Ends,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Sonic Youth,
UT,
Cecil Taylor,
Charles Mingus,
Stockholm Monsters,
Glenn Branca,
Organ,
Robert Hood,
Avey Tare,
Nico,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
The Birthday Party,
The Young Rascals,
Ornette Coleman,
Gabor Szabo,
Derrick May,
Kevin Saunderson,
Harpers Bizarre,
E-Dancer,
Kenny Larkin,
Arcadia,
the Association,
Curtis Mayfield,
Sonny Sharrock,
Albert Ayler,
Underground Resistance,
Marshall Jefferson,
Isaac Hayes,
David Bowie,
Pulsallama,
Barry Ungar,
The Golliwogs,
B.T. Express,
Second Layer,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Sällskapet,
Eden Ahbez,
Mars,
Jeff Mills,
Pagans,
ABBA,
Whodini,
Throbbing Gristle, Throbbing Gristle, Throbbing Gristle, Throbbing Gristle.
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.