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 Kiribati and from Houston.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Big Star show in Memphis.
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 1960 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and New York.
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 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 Nile Rodgers 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 Joy Division to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Inner City. All the underground hits.
All Oblivians tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Slackers 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Ultimate Spinach record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Electric Prunes,
the Bar-Kays,
Scientists,
The Busters,
Girls At Our Best!,
Jacob Miller,
The Buckinghams,
Scrapy,
Masters at Work,
These Immortal Souls,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Mary Jane Girls,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Rotary Connection,
Sam Rivers,
X-Ray Spex,
Grandmaster Flash,
The Kinks,
Danielle Patucci,
T.S.O.L.,
Carl Craig,
Barry Ungar,
ABBA,
Gerry Rafferty,
Ludus,
Traffic Nightmare,
Sonic Youth,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Stereo Dub,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
The Vogues,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
the Slits,
Mark Hollis,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Von Mondo,
The Cramps,
Sparks,
Kevin Saunderson,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Hoover,
the Fania All-Stars,
Matthew Halsall,
Gang Gang Dance,
Nation of Ulysses,
Laurel Aitken,
The J.B.'s,
Tommy Roe,
Lalann,
Susan Cadogan,
Jimmy McGriff,
Hardrive,
Cameo,
LL Cool J,
Kurtis Blow,
Pantaleimon,
Sun City Girls,
Sixth Finger,
The Golliwogs,
Robert Görl,
Tropical Tobacco,
The Smoke,
Pet Shop Boys, Pet Shop Boys, Pet Shop Boys, Pet Shop Boys.
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.