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 Belgium and from Manila.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television show in New York.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lyon 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 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Rhythim Is Rhythim to the crunk 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 Bobby Sherman. All the underground hits.
All Symarip tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Lonnie Liston Smith record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Harmonia record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ludus,
Gang of Four,
Eric Dolphy,
Peter and Kerry,
The Raincoats,
Flipper,
Jawbox,
Jesper Dahlback,
Letta Mbulu,
Cybotron,
Nik Kershaw,
Sun City Girls,
Jeff Lynne,
Interpol,
Gang Starr,
Scientists,
Goldenarms,
Sam Rivers,
Chris & Cosey,
Tom Boy,
Youth Brigade,
Mandrill,
Max Romeo,
Harry Pussy,
Piero Umiliani,
The Dead C,
Porter Ricks,
The Monochrome Set,
Black Flag,
The Gories,
Ronan,
Whodini,
Kool Moe Dee,
Graham Central Station,
B.T. Express,
Shuggie Otis,
Mary Jane Girls,
Spandau Ballet,
Crash Course in Science,
Don Cherry,
Ultra Naté,
Junior Murvin,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Frankie Knuckles,
Malaria!,
Motorama,
Scan 7,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Marine Girls,
Mark Hollis,
Eli Mardock,
Alice Coltrane,
Mission of Burma,
Sexual Harrassment,
Outsiders,
London Community Gospel Choir,
the Slits,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
The Mighty Diamonds,
James White and The Blacks,
Angry Samoans, Angry Samoans, Angry Samoans, Angry Samoans.
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.