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 Niger and from Stockholm.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 Donald Fagen 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 Junior Murvin to the electroclash 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 Throbbing Gristle. All the underground hits.
All Pussy Galore tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Golliwogs record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz 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 arpeggiator and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Moby Grape record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Infiniti,
Nation of Ulysses,
48th St. Collective,
Nick Fraelich,
Can,
Ralphi Rosario,
Pole,
Barry Ungar,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Simply Red,
John Foxx,
Hasil Adkins,
The Slits,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
the Sonics,
Saccharine Trust,
Cecil Taylor,
Visage,
Rotary Connection,
Bobby Byrd,
Susan Cadogan,
Guru Guru,
The Knickerbockers,
Don Cherry,
The Monochrome Set,
the Association,
Rod Modell,
the Fania All-Stars,
China Crisis,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Fort Wilson Riot,
the Bar-Kays,
KRS-One,
Glenn Branca,
The Gories,
Lower 48,
Kenny Larkin,
Morten Harket,
New Age Steppers,
8 Eyed Spy,
Eden Ahbez,
Minutemen,
The Beau Brummels,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Magma,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Charles Mingus,
The Doors,
kango's stein massive,
Fear,
Laurel Aitken,
Glambeats Corp.,
Big Daddy Kane,
Dark Day,
The Seeds,
Model 500,
Grauzone,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Faust, Faust, Faust, Faust.
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.