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 Tonga and from Salvador.
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 1967 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Houston and Calgary.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mumbai 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 linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Flesh Eaters to the crunk 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 John Foxx. All the underground hits.
All Ultimate Spinach tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Todd Terry record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime 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 sitar and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mr. Review record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a 808.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bobby Byrd,
The Trojans,
Gang Gang Dance,
Bush Tetras,
Gichy Dan,
Wings,
Matthew Halsall,
The Wake,
the Sonics,
Bob Dylan,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
The Victims,
Boredoms,
Jerry Gold Smith,
The Young Rascals,
Fela Kuti,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Cal Tjader,
The Detroit Cobras,
Blossom Toes,
Ituana,
Maurizio,
Icehouse,
Scott Walker,
Qualms,
Q65,
Pussy Galore,
Dual Sessions,
8 Eyed Spy,
Delta 5,
Jacques Brel,
Kenny Larkin,
Porter Ricks,
the Bar-Kays,
Sex Pistols,
Eve St. Jones,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Gerry Rafferty,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Roxette,
Wolf Eyes,
Babytalk,
This Heat,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Lightning Bolt,
Dorothy Ashby,
Morten Harket,
China Crisis,
Kurtis Blow,
Albert Ayler,
Spandau Ballet,
Graham Central Station,
Agitation Free,
Letta Mbulu,
Cheater Slicks,
Amon Düül,
Deakin,
John Cale,
In Retrospect,
Rapeman,
Boz Scaggs,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
the Soft Cell,
Desert Stars, Desert Stars, Desert Stars, Desert Stars.
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.