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 Comoros and from Lille.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Houston and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Joyce Sims 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 Kenny Larkin. All the underground hits.
All The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Nation of Ulysses record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Absolute Body Control record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Erykah Badu,
Urselle,
Franke,
Agent Orange,
Ornette Coleman,
The Buckinghams,
Reuben Wilson,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Pole,
Josef K,
The Techniques,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
The J.B.'s,
The Count Five,
Hashim,
Pagans,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Prince Buster,
Hoover,
Ronnie Foster,
Henry Cow,
Joe Smooth,
Flamin' Groovies,
The Stooges,
Severed Heads,
Gong,
The Velvet Underground,
Easy Going,
Bizarre Inc.,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Zero Boys,
Leonard Cohen,
Peter & Gordon,
Bill Wells,
Frankie Knuckles,
Dawn Penn,
The Gories,
The Blackbyrds,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
New York Dolls,
Jeru the Damaja,
Aaron Thompson,
DJ Style,
James Chance & The Contortions,
The Move,
Joey Negro,
Fugazi,
Talk Talk,
Mr. Review,
The Dirtbombs,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Clear Light,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
The Smiths,
Man Eating Sloth,
Wings,
ABBA,
Lyres,
Matthew Bourne,
Traffic Nightmare, Traffic Nightmare, Traffic Nightmare, Traffic Nightmare.
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.