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 Kyrgyzstan and from Houston.
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 1965 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 1977 at the first Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 electroclash kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Slits. All the underground hits.
All Jeru the Damaja tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every 48th St. Collective record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Bill Near 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?
Minnie Riperton,
DJ Sneak,
Rites of Spring,
Brand Nubian,
Skriet,
Harpers Bizarre,
Angry Samoans,
R.M.O.,
Pet Shop Boys,
Surgeon,
Procol Harum,
Tears for Fears,
Brothers Johnson,
Goldenarms,
Johnny Osbourne,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Joey Negro,
Pantaleimon,
8 Eyed Spy,
Ultimate Spinach,
Can,
The Selecter,
Traffic Nightmare,
Little Man,
The Pretty Things,
The Gun Club,
The Wake,
New Order,
Unwound,
Boz Scaggs,
Stereo Dub,
Ten City,
Soft Cell,
Suicide,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Deadbeat,
K-Klass,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
John Cale,
Sonny Sharrock,
Agent Orange,
Skarface,
Trumans Water,
Metal Thangz,
Gastr Del Sol,
The Sound,
Minutemen,
David Bowie,
Young Marble Giants,
Unrelated Segments,
Moebius,
Idris Muhammad,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Nirvana,
Ultravox,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Crispian St. Peters,
Amazonics,
The Happenings,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
The Knickerbockers,
Swell Maps, Swell Maps, Swell Maps, Swell Maps.
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.