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 El Salvador and from Mexico City.
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 1969 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 Zapp practice in a loft in Hamilton.
I was working on the sitar 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 Angry Samoans to the crunk 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 Television Personalities. All the underground hits.
All Lou Reed tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Men They Couldn't Hang record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco 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 an oboe and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sandy B record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Black Flag,
F. McDonald,
Pet Shop Boys,
Wolf Eyes,
Aloha Tigers,
Eurythmics,
The Flesh Eaters,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Dawn Penn,
Young Marble Giants,
Joensuu 1685,
D'Angelo,
Ponytail,
Franke,
Scan 7,
Fela Kuti,
Moss Icon,
The Grass Roots,
Gichy Dan,
The Gladiators,
Cymande,
Bronski Beat,
Warren Ellis,
Hot Snakes,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
a-ha,
Gang Green,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Spoonie Gee,
Lindisfarne,
Mark Hollis,
The Techniques,
Interpol,
N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell,
The Happenings,
The Alarm Clocks,
Icehouse,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Roger Hodgson,
Warsaw,
The Offenders,
The Mojo Men,
MDC,
Basic Channel,
Albert Ayler,
Make Up,
Gang Gang Dance,
Frankie Knuckles,
Slave,
The Skatalites,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Altered Images,
CMW,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Kayak,
Nation of Ulysses,
Magma,
Drive Like Jehu,
Harry Pussy,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Ronnie Foster, Ronnie Foster, Ronnie Foster, Ronnie Foster.
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.