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 Canada and from Paris.
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 1961 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Portland.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mexico City 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 1983 at the first Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Smog to the punk 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 The Remains. All the underground hits.
All Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Babytalk record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Fugazi record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Barbara Tucker,
Lungfish,
Janne Schatter,
Fear,
Aswad,
The Gladiators,
Hoover,
Bobby Byrd,
The Last Poets,
Funkadelic,
Dorothy Ashby,
The Slits,
Donny Hathaway,
Al Stewart,
Andrew Hill,
The Raincoats,
Ultravox,
Fela Kuti,
Thompson Twins,
Sonny Sharrock,
PIL,
Connie Case,
Marcia Griffiths,
Pylon,
Tim Buckley,
Angry Samoans,
Ludus,
D'Angelo,
Wings,
Mary Jane Girls,
One Last Wish,
Icehouse,
The Human League,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Simply Red,
Urselle,
Johnny Clarke,
Letta Mbulu,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Pharoah Sanders,
La Düsseldorf,
Gerry Rafferty,
Nirvana,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Yellowson,
The Doors,
Porter Ricks,
Laurel Aitken,
Gang Starr,
New Order,
Young Marble Giants,
Joe Smooth,
Camberwell Now,
The Barracudas,
Grauzone,
Pierre Henry,
The Fuzztones,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Pere Ubu,
ABBA,
Ronan,
The Litter,
Smog, Smog, Smog, Smog.
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.