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 Kuwait and from Philadelphia.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1963 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Taipei.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Sister Nancy to the techno kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Scott Walker. All the underground hits.
All Con Funk Shun tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Massinfluence 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Kerrie Biddell record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Harry Pussy,
Mark Hollis,
Patti Smith,
The Alarm Clocks,
The Grass Roots,
Pierre Henry,
Black Moon,
Gong,
London Community Gospel Choir,
The Names,
Los Fastidios,
Ornette Coleman,
Fugazi,
Gang of Four,
Cymande,
Neu!,
ABBA,
Dual Sessions,
John Cale,
Ultra Naté,
Tommy Roe,
DJ Style,
Man Eating Sloth,
The Gap Band,
Sällskapet,
The Red Krayola,
James Chance & The Contortions,
The Dirtbombs,
Nico,
The Blues Magoos,
Inner City,
Beasts of Bourbon,
B.T. Express,
Trumans Water,
Eric Dolphy,
Rakim,
The Slackers,
Pussy Galore,
Kerrie Biddell,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Terrestrial Tones,
Shoche,
Sexual Harrassment,
H. Thieme,
Mission of Burma,
Ponytail,
Faraquet,
Fatback Band,
Soft Cell,
Aaron Thompson,
Jeff Mills,
The Fuzztones,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Television,
Urselle,
Spoonie Gee,
Gang Starr,
Brand Nubian,
Second Layer,
Sonic Youth,
Boredoms,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Altered Images, Altered Images, Altered Images, Altered Images.
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.