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 Chile and from Glasgow.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 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 Sound Behaviour to the electroclash 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 Bootsy's Rubber Band. All the underground hits.
All Ultra Naté tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every 8 Eyed Spy 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Tremeloes record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Vladislav Delay,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Piero Umiliani,
Television,
The Wake,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Crash Course in Science,
Average White Band,
Lower 48,
The Residents,
Avey Tare,
Main Source,
Thompson Twins,
The Index,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Saccharine Trust,
Animal Collective,
the Germs,
The Fugs,
Ituana,
Jawbox,
Electric Prunes,
Barclay James Harvest,
Desert Stars,
Ten City,
Zapp,
David Bowie,
Michelle Simonal,
David McCallum,
Dark Day,
The Kinks,
Glenn Branca,
The Fortunes,
Sex Pistols,
The Moody Blues,
Steve Hackett,
Jeff Lynne,
The Grass Roots,
Hardrive,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
The Five Americans,
Banda Bassotti,
Livin' Joy,
Model 500,
Supertramp,
Warren Ellis,
Rekid,
H. Thieme,
The Mummies,
Black Moon,
Goldenarms,
Pylon,
FM Einheit,
Vainqueur,
The Saints,
Graham Central Station,
The Young Rascals,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Interpol, Interpol, Interpol, Interpol.
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.