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 Sierra Leone and from Houston.
But I was there.
I was there in 1984.
I was there at the first Arcadia 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 1967 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Taipei.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school London 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 1970 at the first Onyeabor practice in a loft in Enugu.
I was working on the sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Throbbing Gristle to the punk 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 Rapeman. All the underground hits.
All The Sound tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Throbbing Gristle 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Desert Stars record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Electric Prunes,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
a-ha,
The Dirtbombs,
Mantronix,
Qualms,
U.S. Maple,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Cal Tjader,
Sex Pistols,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Throbbing Gristle,
Scratch Acid,
London Community Gospel Choir,
The Standells,
Bush Tetras,
Boredoms,
Barbara Tucker,
Vladislav Delay,
Scan 7,
Dave Gahan,
Steve Hackett,
Connie Case,
The Smoke,
Maleditus Sound,
the Association,
Ultra Naté,
Motorama,
Grauzone,
Davy DMX,
Trumans Water,
The Detroit Cobras,
Crispy Ambulance,
Half Japanese,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
The Music Machine,
Quantec,
Yusef Lateef,
Average White Band,
Chrome,
The Neon Judgement,
The Slackers,
KRS-One,
Morten Harket,
Pharoah Sanders,
Crispian St. Peters,
The Searchers,
Tomorrow,
Fatback Band,
Shoche,
Amon Düül,
Dennis Brown,
Pylon,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Fad Gadget,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Soft Cell,
L. Decosne,
The Flesh Eaters,
Hot Snakes, Hot Snakes, Hot Snakes, Hot Snakes.
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.