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 Suriname and from Spokane.
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 1969 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Cairo 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the sitar 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 Henry Cow to the rock kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Bobby Sherman. All the underground hits.
All Stetsasonic tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Jeru the Damaja record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash 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 an organ and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Nirvana record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
OOIOO,
Make Up,
Tres Demented,
Malaria!,
Cymande,
Pussy Galore,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Scion,
Tommy Roe,
The Alarm Clocks,
Dorothy Ashby,
Los Fastidios,
Japan,
The Residents,
Outsiders,
Accadde A,
Barbara Tucker,
Zapp,
Lungfish,
Monolake,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Dennis Brown,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Bobby Sherman,
The Dead C,
Arab on Radar,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Wasted Youth,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Lakeside,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Minutemen,
Scan 7,
Popol Vuh,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
A Certain Ratio,
Robert Wyatt,
Sandy B,
Maleditus Sound,
Marcia Griffiths,
Kurtis Blow,
Chris Corsano,
Wally Richardson,
Juan Atkins,
Eddi Front,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Funky Four + One,
Vladislav Delay,
The Buckinghams,
The Raincoats,
The Move,
Black Moon,
Stockholm Monsters,
Au Pairs,
Letta Mbulu,
Mary Jane Girls,
Saccharine Trust,
Kerrie Biddell,
Barclay James Harvest,
One Last Wish,
Chris & Cosey,
Oneida, Oneida, Oneida, Oneida.
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.