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 China and from Beijing.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Milan and Taipei.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 1984 at the first Arcadia practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the synthesizer 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 London Community Gospel Choir to the funk 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 Black Bananas. All the underground hits.
All Half Japanese tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Saccharine Trust 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Masters at Work record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Hot Snakes,
Altered Images,
Eve St. Jones,
Dawn Penn,
Skarface,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
The Black Dice,
Nils Olav,
Scan 7,
Ultravox,
Sister Nancy,
Beasts of Bourbon,
The Invisible,
The Seeds,
Hoover,
Talk Talk,
Radio Birdman,
The United States of America,
Carl Craig,
Minutemen,
Aural Exciters,
The Moody Blues,
Crooked Eye,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Blake Baxter,
Rapeman,
Youth Brigade,
Isaac Hayes,
Clear Light,
John Coltrane,
Wire,
Smog,
The Cowsills,
Urselle,
Lakeside,
The Litter,
Japan,
Can,
Public Enemy,
The Vogues,
Oblivians,
X-Ray Spex,
Ituana,
Marmalade,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
DJ Style,
Nico,
Basic Channel,
Harry Pussy,
Pole,
Henry Cow,
Tim Buckley,
Agitation Free,
Sexual Harrassment,
John Foxx,
Pharoah Sanders,
The Leaves,
The American Breed,
Barry Ungar, Barry Ungar, Barry Ungar, Barry Ungar.
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.