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 Fiji and from Calgary.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1960 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 theremin 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 Matthew Bourne to the grime 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 The Invisible. All the underground hits.
All Eric Copeland tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Harry Pussy 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 an arpeggiator and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Blues Magoos record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Harry Pussy,
The Residents,
Niagra,
The Mummies,
Arab on Radar,
Scan 7,
Camouflage,
The Dirtbombs,
Don Cherry,
Essential Logic,
Buzzcocks,
Sound Behaviour,
the Normal,
Oblivians,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
R.M.O.,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
DJ Style,
The Blues Magoos,
The Golliwogs,
Marc Almond,
the Germs,
AZ,
Alphaville,
Quadrant,
China Crisis,
Visage,
Jeru the Damaja,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Gichy Dan,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Be Bop Deluxe,
The Flesh Eaters,
Kevin Saunderson,
Cabaret Voltaire,
the Swans,
Judy Mowatt,
Boredoms,
EPMD,
U.S. Maple,
Sällskapet,
Icehouse,
Sex Pistols,
Tres Demented,
Thompson Twins,
The Smoke,
The Gladiators,
Throbbing Gristle,
Basic Channel,
Todd Rundgren,
Von Mondo,
Dorothy Ashby,
Camberwell Now,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
The Grass Roots,
Radiohead,
The Doobie Brothers,
Schoolly D,
Erykah Badu,
Liliput,
Ken Boothe,
The Modern Lovers,
Aural Exciters, Aural Exciters, Aural Exciters, Aural Exciters.
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.