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 Argentina and from New York.
But I was there.
I was there in 1978.
I was there at the first Visage 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 1967 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 organ 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 Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Little Man. All the underground hits.
All Black Pus tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Fatback Band record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Notorious Big And Bone Thugs record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Monks,
David Axelrod,
The Seeds,
The Move,
Smog,
Yusef Lateef,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Qualms,
Morten Harket,
The Doobie Brothers,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Warsaw,
One Last Wish,
Cluster,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Skarface,
Gong,
Freddie Wadling,
Symarip,
Arcadia,
Barbara Tucker,
Das Ding,
Tres Demented,
Dennis Brown,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
The Blues Magoos,
Crispy Ambulance,
Robert Görl,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Cheater Slicks,
A Certain Ratio,
Bobby Byrd,
The Birthday Party,
Juan Atkins,
Magazine,
U.S. Maple,
Silicon Teens,
Arab on Radar,
The Electric Prunes,
The Music Machine,
Echospace,
Average White Band,
Mark Hollis,
Bauhaus,
Scientists,
Guru Guru,
Wasted Youth,
Pole,
Nirvana,
Procol Harum,
Drive Like Jehu,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Scott Walker,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Saccharine Trust,
Dual Sessions,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Lyres,
Y Pants,
Suicide, Suicide, Suicide, Suicide.
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.