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 Guinea-Bissau and from Accra.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1963 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manila and Winnipeg.
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 synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Crispy Ambulance to the crunk 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 Scott Walker. All the underground hits.
All Gian Franco Pienzio tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Iggy Pop 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Minutemen record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Masters at Work,
Japan,
The Residents,
Easy Going,
Sex Pistols,
The Knickerbockers,
The Gun Club,
The Blues Magoos,
Saccharine Trust,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Jeff Mills,
The Shadows of Knight,
The Dave Clark Five,
the Swans,
The Durutti Column,
Hot Snakes,
Jerry's Kids,
Rites of Spring,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Goldenarms,
Jimmy McGriff,
PIL,
Ludus,
Sight & Sound,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Letta Mbulu,
Eddi Front,
Graham Central Station,
Heaven 17,
John Lydon,
Yellowson,
The Electric Prunes,
Khruangbin,
Guru Guru,
Von Mondo,
Janne Schatter,
Bronski Beat,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
Fat Boys,
Hoover,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Soulsonic Force,
Talk Talk,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Vainqueur,
Ronnie Foster,
Man Parrish,
Gerry Rafferty,
Derrick Morgan,
Eurythmics,
F. McDonald,
The United States of America,
Matthew Bourne,
Television,
Monolake,
Lightning Bolt,
Kerri Chandler,
Funkadelic,
Pulsallama,
Black Moon,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Lonnie Liston Smith, Lonnie Liston Smith, Lonnie Liston Smith, Lonnie Liston Smith.
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.