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 Luxembourg and from Copenhagen.
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 1961 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manila and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 1977 at the first Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Altered Images to the grunge 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 Oneida. All the underground hits.
All Lafayette Afro Rock Band tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Suburban Knight record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Althea and Donna record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Peter and Kerry,
China Crisis,
Panda Bear,
Infiniti,
Hashim,
Buzzcocks,
Grey Daturas,
The Fugs,
Con Funk Shun,
Joy Division,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Stiv Bators,
Altered Images,
The Standells,
Brothers Johnson,
Girls At Our Best!,
Siglo XX,
Rotary Connection,
The Knickerbockers,
The Gladiators,
Newcleus,
The Invisible,
EPMD,
Sight & Sound,
Slave,
Malaria!,
Q and Not U,
Q65,
The Smoke,
The Dead C,
Urselle,
Ornette Coleman,
Ultimate Spinach,
Joe Finger,
Gichy Dan,
John Lydon,
Interpol,
The Fall,
Scott Walker,
Amon Düül,
Soul Sonic Force,
JFA,
Underground Resistance,
Agent Orange,
Organ,
Barrington Levy,
48th St. Collective,
Niagra,
The Red Krayola,
the Fania All-Stars,
Sixth Finger,
Massinfluence,
Flash Fearless,
Albert Ayler,
Aural Exciters,
Wire,
Unrelated Segments,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Jesper Dahlback,
The Cure,
Isaac Hayes,
Metal Thangz,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
the Bar-Kays,
The Litter, The Litter, The Litter, The Litter.
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.