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 Armenia and from Shanghai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Soft Boys show in Cambridge.
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 1964 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and Jakarta.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Calgary 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 mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Pylon to the grime 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 Selector Dub Narcotic. All the underground hits.
All Kango’s Stein Massive tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Adolescents 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Velvet Underground record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Banda Bassotti,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
OOIOO,
The Beau Brummels,
Jeff Mills,
The Trojans,
Shoche,
Organ,
The Raincoats,
The Dead C,
Colin Newman,
Nik Kershaw,
Cymande,
Altered Images,
Buzzcocks,
The Shadows of Knight,
Kurtis Blow,
Lebanon Hanover,
The Grass Roots,
Con Funk Shun,
Gang Green,
Absolute Body Control,
Kerri Chandler,
Lou Christie,
Panda Bear,
Don Cherry,
Fear,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Massinfluence,
Magma,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Robert Wyatt,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Unwound,
the Soft Cell,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Barclay James Harvest,
Yazoo,
These Immortal Souls,
Sonny Sharrock,
Scion,
Blossom Toes,
Freddie Wadling,
Kevin Saunderson,
Soul II Soul,
Marshall Jefferson,
Silicon Teens,
Sound Behaviour,
Fugazi,
Porter Ricks,
Lalo Schifrin,
Barry Ungar,
The Gun Club,
DNA,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Babytalk,
Nas,
Magazine,
Brick,
The Dave Clark Five,
Faust,
Marmalade,
Ossler, Ossler, Ossler, Ossler.
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.