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 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 1962 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Manila.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the 808 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 The Gun Club to the rap kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 the Association. All the underground hits.
All The Fugs tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Golliwogs 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Seeds record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Dead C,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Prince Buster,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
The Slackers,
Camberwell Now,
Black Bananas,
Crooked Eye,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Susan Cadogan,
Scrapy,
Shoche,
Lower 48,
The Remains,
Blancmange,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Chrome,
Ponytail,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
The Pretty Things,
The Trojans,
The Real Kids,
Man Eating Sloth,
Jeff Mills,
Chris & Cosey,
The Durutti Column,
Schoolly D,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Sister Nancy,
Quando Quango,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Little Man,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Lakeside,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Marine Girls,
Dave Gahan,
the Slits,
Quadrant,
Sandy B,
Big Daddy Kane,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
Scion,
Rosa Yemen,
kango's stein massive,
Unwound,
The Offenders,
Black Sheep,
Khruangbin,
The Count Five,
The Angels of Light,
Avey Tare,
The Sonics,
Bauhaus,
Howard Jones,
Robert Hood,
Livin' Joy,
Spandau Ballet,
Supertramp,
Skaos,
Alton Ellis,
Subhumans, Subhumans, Subhumans, Subhumans.
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.