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 Milan.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1966 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Mumbai.
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 oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Lonnie Liston Smith to the dance kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Altered Images. All the underground hits.
All London Community Gospel Choir tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Black Dice record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge 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 rhodes and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The American Breed record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Ultravox,
Minny Pops,
Ponytail,
Sun Ra,
Panda Bear,
The Vogues,
Traffic Nightmare,
Magazine,
Banda Bassotti,
Eve St. Jones,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Frankie Knuckles,
Derrick May,
the Soft Cell,
Jimmy McGriff,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Nick Fraelich,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Nik Kershaw,
Kenny Larkin,
Davy DMX,
Adolescents,
Marcia Griffiths,
Scrapy,
L. Decosne,
the Sonics,
Television,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Yusef Lateef,
Donny Hathaway,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
China Crisis,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Maleditus Sound,
Qualms,
Agent Orange,
Judy Mowatt,
Archie Shepp,
Quantec,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Drexciya,
a-ha,
Pantaleimon,
Bush Tetras,
The Smiths,
Freddie Wadling,
U.S. Maple,
The Birthday Party,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Camberwell Now,
Niagra,
Throbbing Gristle,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Scratch Acid,
Marc Almond,
Arab on Radar,
The Zeros,
Black Bananas,
The Flesh Eaters, The Flesh Eaters, The Flesh Eaters, The Flesh Eaters.
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.