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 Trinidad & Tobago and from Tokyo.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide show in New York.
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 1965 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Milan and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Eli Mardock to the funk kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Eric Copeland. All the underground hits.
All Roy Ayers tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Nation of Ulysses record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Neil Young & Crazy Horse record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Susan Cadogan,
The Count Five,
Jeru the Damaja,
T.S.O.L.,
Kerri Chandler,
Ten City,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
The Standells,
Eurythmics,
Sugar Minott,
The Modern Lovers,
Tears for Fears,
Wally Richardson,
Roger Hodgson,
Unrelated Segments,
Minnie Riperton,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Dual Sessions,
Magma,
Marc Almond,
L. Decosne,
James White and The Blacks,
Grandmaster Flash,
Heaven 17,
Procol Harum,
Eve St. Jones,
The Gun Club,
Marshall Jefferson,
In Retrospect,
Skarface,
Sam Rivers,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Glambeats Corp.,
Soul Sonic Force,
The Cowsills,
Crash Course in Science,
Fort Wilson Riot,
X-102,
Big Daddy Kane,
The J.B.'s,
Mr. Review,
Steve Hackett,
The Red Krayola,
Siglo XX,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
The Durutti Column,
Monolake,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
The Golliwogs,
Supertramp,
The Dirtbombs,
8 Eyed Spy,
John Cale,
Davy DMX,
The Remains,
Q and Not U,
Hoover,
Ponytail, Ponytail, Ponytail, Ponytail.
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.