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 Dominica and from Accra.
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 1960 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Woodstock.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 1983 at the first Lewis practice in a loft in Vancouver.
I was working on the synthesizer 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 Clear Light to the dance kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Richard Hell and the Voidoids. All the underground hits.
All Max Romeo tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Jerry Gold Smith record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Kool Moe Dee record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Cheater Slicks,
Depeche Mode,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Ash Ra Tempel,
The Young Rascals,
Wings,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Scott Walker,
Pagans,
Eric Dolphy,
Can,
The Monochrome Set,
Suicide,
The Index,
Ronan,
Eric B and Rakim,
Anthony Braxton,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
The Doors,
Juan Atkins,
Soft Machine,
Fela Kuti,
Rhythm & Sound,
Monks,
Visionaries,LMNO, T- Love & Iriscience,
F. McDonald,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Mad Mike,
Icehouse,
DNA,
Jacob Miller,
Kenny Larkin,
The Doobie Brothers,
Rakim,
Donald Byrd,
the Association,
Lyres,
Vladislav Delay,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Kerri Chandler,
Roxy Music,
Pussy Galore,
Dawn Penn,
The Busters,
Letta Mbulu,
Bobby Womack,
Scientists,
Connie Case,
Girls At Our Best!,
The Zeros,
The Fuzztones,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Josef K,
Q and Not U,
Jacques Brel,
Bill Wells,
The Invisible,
The Gap Band,
Iggy Pop, Iggy Pop, Iggy Pop, Iggy Pop.
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.