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 Haiti and from Bologna.
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 1962 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Spokane and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Strawberry Alarm Clock to the dance kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Jacob Miller. All the underground hits.
All Jerry Gold Smith tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Joe Finger record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Porter Ricks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Nico,
Wolf Eyes,
David McCallum,
Rakim,
The Mummies,
Connie Case,
the Slits,
L. Decosne,
Camberwell Now,
the Germs,
PIL,
Minutemen,
Mo-Dettes,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Minor Threat,
Rhythm & Sound,
The Red Krayola,
Sex Pistols,
The Human League,
Cal Tjader,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
The Gladiators,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Fugazi,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Jesper Dahlback,
Simply Red,
The Pop Group,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
X-101,
Leonard Cohen,
Deakin,
Crash Course in Science,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Bob Dylan,
Sound Behaviour,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
The Trojans,
Scott Walker,
David Axelrod,
The Doors,
Franke,
Soft Machine,
Crispian St. Peters,
Rosa Yemen,
Lalann,
Brass Construction,
T. Rex,
Zapp,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
the Swans,
Jimmy McGriff,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Swans,
Davy DMX,
Bang On A Can,
Visage,
Panda Bear,
Organ,
Eurythmics,
Excepter, Excepter, Excepter, Excepter.
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.