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 the UAE and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South 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 1965 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 harpsichord 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 Justin Hinds & The Dominoes to the punk 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 Max Romeo. All the underground hits.
All Sonny Sharrock tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Vainqueur record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Beasts of Bourbon record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Rosa Yemen,
Tears for Fears,
The Moody Blues,
Colin Newman,
Ponytail,
Blossom Toes,
Wally Richardson,
Jawbox,
Johnny Osbourne,
Silicon Teens,
Country Teasers,
Lou Christie,
The New Christs,
Scott Walker,
Niagra,
H. Thieme,
Flash Fearless,
Joey Negro,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Rakim,
Nico,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Urselle,
Parry Music,
Youth Brigade,
The Neon Judgement,
Saccharine Trust,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Visage,
The Fortunes,
Agent Orange,
Curtis Mayfield,
Quando Quango,
Grandmaster Flash,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Bob Dylan,
Japan,
Gang Starr,
the Normal,
Althea and Donna,
B.T. Express,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Glenn Branca,
PIL,
Inner City,
the Fania All-Stars,
Drive Like Jehu,
Erykah Badu,
Eli Mardock,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
The Fall,
The Mummies,
Rod Modell,
Anthony Braxton,
Eve St. Jones,
The Victims,
The Pretty Things,
Crime,
The Raincoats,
Shoche,
Liliput,
Stiv Bators,
Deadbeat, Deadbeat, Deadbeat, Deadbeat.
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.