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 Mozambique and from Paris.
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 Stockholm and Lagos.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Interpol to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Shuggie Otis. All the underground hits.
All Lou Reed & John Cale tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Boogie Down Productions record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Stereo Dub record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Trumans Water,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Rapeman,
Crispy Ambulance,
Rosa Yemen,
Skaos,
Laurel Aitken,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Eurythmics,
Gil Scott Heron,
Sam Rivers,
Lucky Dragons,
Desert Stars,
The Remains,
Sparks,
The Stooges,
Joe Smooth,
Iggy Pop,
The Index,
Yaz,
Jawbox,
The Leaves,
Kenny Larkin,
Popol Vuh,
Reuben Wilson,
R.M.O.,
the Soft Cell,
Glenn Branca,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Oblivians,
Fugazi,
Alton Ellis,
Reagan Youth,
Black Pus,
Jacques Brel,
The Real Kids,
The Smoke,
Suicide,
Joyce Sims,
Sarah Menescal,
The Blues Magoos,
Harry Pussy,
The Monochrome Set,
K-Klass,
Avey Tare,
Jerry's Kids,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
New York Dolls,
Unwound,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Quadrant,
Stockholm Monsters,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Gang Gang Dance,
The Misunderstood,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
the Fania All-Stars,
James White and The Blacks,
Cluster,
Max Romeo,
The Gladiators,
Man Parrish,
Swans,
Dead Boys,
Steve Hackett, Steve Hackett, Steve Hackett, Steve Hackett.
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.