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 Zambia and from Calgary.
But I was there.
I was there in 1965.
I was there at the first Beefheart show in Lancaster.
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 1968 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tokyo 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 organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Human League to the punk kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Wally Richardson. All the underground hits.
All Subhumans tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Agent Orange 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Robert Görl record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Fear,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Deepchord,
Basic Channel,
a-ha,
Y Pants,
Roxette,
Joe Smooth,
Avey Tare,
Steve Hackett,
Malaria!,
Unrelated Segments,
Nation of Ulysses,
The Angels of Light,
the Normal,
Fatback Band,
Kenny Larkin,
The J.B.'s,
Zapp,
Godley & Creme,
L. Decosne,
Main Source,
Deakin,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
John Cale,
E-Dancer,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Cybotron,
Roy Ayers,
Pere Ubu,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
X-101,
Kayak,
Gil Scott Heron,
DJ Style,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Cluster,
Saccharine Trust,
Sam Rivers,
Scratch Acid,
Skarface,
Mission of Burma,
Tim Buckley,
Con Funk Shun,
Kas Product,
New Order,
Depeche Mode,
Byron Stingily,
Sugar Minott,
Interpol,
June of 44,
Sun Ra,
Mr. Review,
Pulsallama,
Bauhaus,
U.S. Maple,
The Human League,
Dark Day,
Hasil Adkins,
Terry Callier,
Barclay James Harvest,
Throbbing Gristle,
Peter and Kerry,
Davy DMX,
Dead Boys, Dead Boys, Dead Boys, Dead 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.