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 Mexico and from Toronto.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 The Doobie Brothers to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Loose Ends. All the underground hits.
All Roger Hodgson tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Prince Buster 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 mellotron and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pantaleimon record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Rufus Thomas,
World's Most,
Arthur Verocai,
The Real Kids,
Harry Pussy,
Wolf Eyes,
The Gories,
Lungfish,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Nick Fraelich,
Jacob Miller,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
John Foxx,
Chris Corsano,
Connie Case,
Terrestrial Tones,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
the Normal,
Theoretical Girls,
Dave Gahan,
Brass Construction,
James White and The Blacks,
The Seeds,
Main Source,
Minnie Riperton,
Donny Hathaway,
Deadbeat,
Rakim,
Todd Rundgren,
Scientists,
The Slits,
The Knickerbockers,
The Remains,
Moebius,
Ohio Players,
ABBA,
The American Breed,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Lyres,
Sixth Finger,
Boz Scaggs,
The Birthday Party,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Brand Nubian,
X-Ray Spex,
Severed Heads,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Peter and Kerry,
Tubeway Army,
Desert Stars,
This Heat,
New Order,
Hot Snakes,
Mr. Review,
Simply Red,
Goldenarms,
Parry Music,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Youth Brigade,
Gang Starr,
Magma,
Delta 5,
Wally Richardson, Wally Richardson, Wally Richardson, Wally Richardson.
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.