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 Azerbaijan and from Johannesburg.
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 1966 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Toronto.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 1965 at the first Beefheart practice in a loft in Lancaster.
I was working on the theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 CMW to the grime 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 The Men They Couldn't Hang. All the underground hits.
All H. Thieme tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Toni Rubio 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 an arpeggiator and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a U.S. Maple record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Lalann,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Morten Harket,
Deakin,
Pole,
Ralphi Rosario,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Connie Case,
New York Dolls,
Scientists,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Aswad,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
The Durutti Column,
The Sisters of Mercy,
John Foxx,
Fatback Band,
UT,
Tubeway Army,
The Skatalites,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Unwound,
Kerri Chandler,
Zero Boys,
Liliput,
Ronnie Foster,
World's Most,
Fugazi,
DNA,
Sonny Sharrock,
Unrelated Segments,
The Moody Blues,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Graham Central Station,
Crash Course in Science,
Dark Day,
The Music Machine,
The Toasters,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
The Fire Engines,
Dead Boys,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Reuben Wilson,
Swell Maps,
Chris & Cosey,
Kas Product,
The Fuzztones,
The Doors,
Gang Gang Dance,
Max Romeo,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Black Sheep,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Sight & Sound,
John Holt,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Kevin Saunderson,
The Angels of Light,
Wasted Youth,
The Searchers,
Kool Moe Dee,
Sister Nancy,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo, Kool G Rap & DJ Polo, Kool G Rap & DJ Polo, Kool G Rap & DJ Polo.
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.