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 El Salvador and from Lyon.
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 1964 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manila and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the organ 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 Fatback Band to the techno kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Grey Daturas. All the underground hits.
All Porter Ricks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Eric B and Rakim 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Chris & Cosey record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Electric Prunes,
It's A Beautiful Day,
The Cowsills,
The Saints,
Porter Ricks,
Vladislav Delay,
Adolescents,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Delta 5,
Mo-Dettes,
The Detroit Cobras,
Scrapy,
The Dead C,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Man Parrish,
Lebanon Hanover,
Boz Scaggs,
Marmalade,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Althea and Donna,
Danielle Patucci,
Frankie Knuckles,
The Vogues,
Joensuu 1685,
Camberwell Now,
The Associates,
Connie Case,
Massinfluence,
Amazonics,
Faust,
The Barracudas,
Josef K,
the Human League,
The Flesh Eaters,
Janne Schatter,
Ohio Players,
Terry Callier,
The Motions,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Alice Coltrane,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Mission of Burma,
Reagan Youth,
Lou Christie,
The Buckinghams,
The Martian,
Con Funk Shun,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Quando Quango,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Eli Mardock,
Boredoms,
Excepter,
The Five Americans,
Heaven 17,
Charles Mingus,
The Fugs,
Royal Trux,
Traffic Nightmare,
Silicon Teens,
The Residents,
Au Pairs, Au Pairs, Au Pairs, Au Pairs.
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.