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 Macedonia and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1984.
I was there at the first Arcadia 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 1967 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Sao Paulo.
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 clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Blake Baxter to the dance kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson. All the underground hits.
All Organ tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Star Department record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s 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 Heaven 17 record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bang On A Can,
Sex Pistols,
Wolf Eyes,
The Skatalites,
ABBA,
Organ,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Gang Gang Dance,
The Count Five,
X-101,
Sugar Minott,
Little Man,
Altered Images,
Bobby Byrd,
a-ha,
Skriet,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
Neil Young,
The Doors,
Silicon Teens,
The Smiths,
Audionom,
Electric Prunes,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Kaleidoscope,
The Misunderstood,
Kool Moe Dee,
Fatback Band,
Rapeman,
Magazine,
The Offenders,
Crispian St. Peters,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Kevin Saunderson,
Bluetip,
Underground Resistance,
Suicide,
A Certain Ratio,
Boz Scaggs,
Shoche,
Eve St. Jones,
Man Eating Sloth,
The Kinks,
Monks,
Newcleus,
The Music Machine,
Hashim,
Visage,
Agitation Free,
Tres Demented,
Animal Collective,
John Foxx,
Au Pairs,
Grey Daturas,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
The Monks,
The Moleskins,
Leonard Cohen,
R.M.O.,
Wire,
The United States of America,
The Five Americans, The Five Americans, The Five Americans, The Five Americans.
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.