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 Latvia and from Glasgow.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Zapp show in Hamilton.
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 1964 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Warren Ellis to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Womack. All the underground hits.
All KRS-One tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Jesper Dahlbäck record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Beau Brummels,
Niagra,
Liliput,
Minny Pops,
Los Fastidios,
Television,
Desert Stars,
E-Dancer,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Judy Mowatt,
Eurythmics,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Neu!,
The Walker Brothers,
Joe Smooth,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Barry Ungar,
Kurtis Blow,
Eric B and Rakim,
Faust,
Lyres,
Procol Harum,
Thompson Twins,
Dead Boys,
Au Pairs,
Zapp,
Gabor Szabo,
Susan Cadogan,
The Last Poets,
David Axelrod,
Aural Exciters,
It's A Beautiful Day,
The Skatalites,
Lightning Bolt,
Wally Richardson,
CMW,
Pussy Galore,
Dorothy Ashby,
The Alarm Clocks,
F. McDonald,
Gang of Four,
Interpol,
Simply Red,
Goldenarms,
Scrapy,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
John Holt,
Suburban Knight,
Max Romeo,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Camberwell Now,
The Dave Clark Five,
Josef K,
The Blues Magoos,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Mark Hollis,
The Cowsills,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
T. Rex,
Rakim,
Gastr Del Sol,
Young Marble Giants,
Moss Icon,
The Smoke,
Cybotron, Cybotron, Cybotron, Cybotron.
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.