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 Lebanon and from Sao Paulo.
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 1965 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Columbus 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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog to the rap kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Mars. All the underground hits.
All Blancmange tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Country Joe & The Fish 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 808 and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Offenders record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Letta Mbulu,
The Invisible,
Al Stewart,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Hardrive,
Lebanon Hanover,
The Last Poets,
Eve St. Jones,
The Alarm Clocks,
F. McDonald,
The Toasters,
Darondo,
Radiohead,
Lucky Dragons,
Eli Mardock,
The Red Krayola,
Bobby Byrd,
B.T. Express,
CMW,
Soul Sonic Force,
The Real Kids,
Zero Boys,
Iggy Pop,
Interpol,
Bad Manners,
The Flesh Eaters,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Harry Pussy,
Nirvana,
The Pretty Things,
Second Layer,
David McCallum,
Kaleidoscope,
The Walker Brothers,
Magma,
Ash Ra Tempel,
a-ha,
the Fania All-Stars,
U.S. Maple,
Camron Feat. Jay Z And Juelz,
Swans,
Glambeats Corp.,
Bobby Sherman,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
the Soft Cell,
Hot Snakes,
Crime,
Cymande,
Silicon Teens,
Bobby Hutcherson,
The Pop Group,
Joyce Sims,
The Fire Engines,
Parry Music,
Gabor Szabo,
The Leaves,
Cal Tjader,
Severed Heads,
Mr. Review, Mr. Review, Mr. Review, Mr. Review.
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.