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 Brazil and from Bremen.
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 1963 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 1979 at the first Josef K practice in a loft in Edinburgh.
I was working on the organ 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 Sly & The Family Stone to the jazz 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 Gun Club. All the underground hits.
All Hoover tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Barbara Tucker record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Marc Almond record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Crime,
Black Pus,
X-102,
Porter Ricks,
Pussy Galore,
Patti Smith,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Ice-T,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
The Real Kids,
Terrestrial Tones,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Barrington Levy,
The Fire Engines,
Robert Wyatt,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Monks,
Camberwell Now,
Blossom Toes,
Y Pants,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
the Soft Cell,
Scott Walker,
The Slits,
The Birthday Party,
The Knickerbockers,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Dawn Penn,
Joyce Sims,
Crispian St. Peters,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Marmalade,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Rites of Spring,
Fear,
Outsiders,
Byron Stingily,
Black Bananas,
Tropical Tobacco,
Motorama,
Suicide,
Altered Images,
Minutemen,
Vainqueur,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Main Source,
Yaz,
Big Daddy Kane,
The Barracudas,
Maurizio,
Technova,
AZ,
Lebanon Hanover,
Pierre Henry,
The Grass Roots,
Boz Scaggs,
Siglo XX,
The Vogues,
Buzzcocks,
Mr. Review,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Malaria!,
Brothers Johnson, Brothers Johnson, Brothers Johnson, Brothers Johnson.
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.