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 Turkmenistan and from Cairo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South 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 1966 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Halifax and Taipei.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 marimba 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 Drive Like Jehu to the rap kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Cecil Taylor. All the underground hits.
All Monolake tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Marcia Griffiths 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Bobby Sherman record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Derrick Morgan,
Piero Umiliani,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Donald Byrd,
The Doors,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
Pulsallama,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Roxette,
Rosa Yemen,
Funkadelic,
The Real Kids,
Moss Icon,
Toni Rubio,
New Age Steppers,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Barry Ungar,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Skriet,
Bronski Beat,
Lou Reed,
La Düsseldorf,
Scott Walker,
These Immortal Souls,
Aswad,
The Martian,
X-102,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
The Busters,
Khruangbin,
The Cosmic Jokers,
The Trojans,
Scientists,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
The J.B.'s,
Ossler,
The Names,
Fear,
Gichy Dan,
Radiohead,
The Durutti Column,
Nils Olav,
Ludus,
Fela Kuti,
The Sonics,
Suicide,
Kas Product,
The American Breed,
Whodini,
T. Rex,
Kerrie Biddell,
Soft Machine,
The Fuzztones,
Sixth Finger,
Icehouse,
Scrapy,
Index,
Grandmaster Flash,
Gang Starr,
The Star Department,
Shoche, Shoche, Shoche, Shoche.
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.