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 Nepal and from Cairo.
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 1969 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Seoul.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 marimba 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 Arab on Radar 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 Jerry Gold Smith. All the underground hits.
All Brass Construction tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Electric Prunes record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Lebanon Hanover record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Agent Orange,
Franke,
Ultravox,
the Bar-Kays,
Harry Pussy,
D'Angelo,
The Mummies,
Rhythm & Sound,
Jeff Lynne,
The Fugs,
Marc Almond,
The Barracudas,
Robert Hood,
Blossom Toes,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Skriet,
Al Stewart,
The Neon Judgement,
the Germs,
Prince Buster,
Bill Wells,
Yellowson,
Kevin Saunderson,
Minny Pops,
The Walker Brothers,
Sarah Menescal,
Rapeman,
The Grass Roots,
Eve St. Jones,
Isaac Hayes,
Nico,
Ultimate Spinach,
Thee Headcoats,
Fifty Foot Hose,
the Association,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Warren Ellis,
John Lydon,
Pagans,
Mantronix,
Popol Vuh,
Mary Jane Girls,
UT,
The Red Krayola,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Nas,
The Gun Club,
The Modern Lovers,
Delon & Dalcan,
Donny Hathaway,
The Velvet Underground,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Avey Tare,
Mars,
Eli Mardock,
Wasted Youth,
Gastr Del Sol,
Kerrie Biddell,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Gong,
Los Fastidios,
Fat Boys,
Anakelly, Anakelly, Anakelly, Anakelly.
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.