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 Nigeria and from London.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1965 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Seoul and Manchester.
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 clarinet 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 Kerri Chandler to the rap 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 Bauhaus. All the underground hits.
All Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Lou Reed 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Charles Mingus record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Los Fastidios,
Heaven 17,
Country Joe & The Fish,
The Flesh Eaters,
Panda Bear,
Ornette Coleman,
Ten City,
EPMD,
World's Most,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Avey Tare,
New Order,
Absolute Body Control,
Amon Düül,
Bad Manners,
Adolescents,
JFA,
Alphaville,
The Tremeloes,
Jawbox,
Johnny Clarke,
Soft Machine,
The Fire Engines,
Jeru the Damaja,
Public Image Ltd.,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
The Evens,
Tears for Fears,
The Dave Clark Five,
Silicon Teens,
kango's stein massive,
The Names,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
The Gun Club,
Iggy Pop,
U.S. Maple,
Siglo XX,
The Pretty Things,
The Real Kids,
Letta Mbulu,
Shuggie Otis,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Saccharine Trust,
Roxy Music,
Brand Nubian,
Yusef Lateef,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
The Victims,
Tres Demented,
Moby Grape,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Buzzcocks,
Sly & The Family Stone,
The Fuzztones,
Angry Samoans,
Harry Pussy,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Gil Scott Heron,
Glenn Branca, Glenn Branca, Glenn Branca, Glenn Branca.
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.