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 Papua New Guinea and from Sao Paulo.
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 1968 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Jakarta 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 synthesizer 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 F. McDonald to the disco kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 PIL. All the underground hits.
All Joensuu 1685 tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Toasters 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Andrew Hill record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Rotary Connection,
Dark Day,
Pierre Henry,
Grauzone,
Cecil Taylor,
Steve Hackett,
The Mojo Men,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Pantytec,
Sunsets and Hearts,
David Bowie,
Bootsy Collins,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Bill Near,
Freddie Wadling,
Judy Mowatt,
Susan Cadogan,
Technova,
Television,
Ultra Naté,
Agitation Free,
The Angels of Light,
Ultravox,
Faraquet,
The Misunderstood,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Popol Vuh,
Gang of Four,
Yaz,
Scrapy,
Mark Hollis,
Gang Green,
Urselle,
Leonard Cohen,
DNA,
The Mighty Diamonds,
The Mummies,
Suburban Knight,
Idris Muhammad,
John Foxx,
Bizarre Inc.,
Ornette Coleman,
Barry Ungar,
Black Bananas,
Cluster,
Don Cherry,
Wolf Eyes,
Cameo,
Funkadelic,
Mandrill,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Soul II Soul,
Faust,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Man Eating Sloth,
Harry Pussy,
In Retrospect,
China Crisis,
These Immortal Souls,
Metal Thangz,
Unrelated Segments,
Suicide, Suicide, Suicide, Suicide.
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.