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 Nigeria and from Accra.
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 1966 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Winnipeg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 The Martian to the punk kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Sarah Menescal. All the underground hits.
All Marshall Jefferson tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Masters at Work 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Stockholm Monsters record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
the Bar-Kays,
Chris Corsano,
Pet Shop Boys,
Man Parrish,
Scientists,
The Gun Club,
Aswad,
Banda Bassotti,
Urselle,
The Index,
UT,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Max Romeo,
Buzzcocks,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Lindisfarne,
Marvin Gaye,
The Blackbyrds,
Joensuu 1685,
The Red Krayola,
Heaven 17,
Smog,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Drexciya,
Cluster,
Public Image Ltd.,
Franke,
Scott Walker,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Bad Manners,
The Gladiators,
Mr. Review,
Model 500,
Scion,
Alton Ellis,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Guru Guru,
Boogie Down Productions,
Kerri Chandler,
Crispy Ambulance,
Niagra,
Make Up,
Schoolly D,
X-101,
Sixth Finger,
The Remains,
Unwound,
ABBA,
The Blues Magoos,
Arab on Radar,
Intrusion,
Flipper,
Roger Hodgson,
Pharoah Sanders,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Quando Quango,
Interpol,
Lyres,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme, Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme, Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme, Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme.
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.