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 Micronesia and from Portland.
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 1961 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Halifax 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 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the snare 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 Tomorrow to the techno kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Pussy Galore. All the underground hits.
All Boz Scaggs tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Whodini 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Saints record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pagans,
Michelle Simonal,
Monks,
One Last Wish,
World's Most,
Crime,
Janne Schatter,
The Techniques,
June Days,
The Red Krayola,
Half Japanese,
This Heat,
Tom Boy,
DJ Style,
Amon Düül II,
Lou Christie,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Lalo Schifrin,
The Skatalites,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Nick Fraelich,
Intrusion,
New Age Steppers,
Amazonics,
Bobby Sherman,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Jeff Mills,
Nik Kershaw,
Brick,
Marcia Griffiths,
These Immortal Souls,
Black Pus,
Thee Headcoats,
Ponytail,
Amon Düül,
Spandau Ballet,
the Fania All-Stars,
Banda Bassotti,
The Residents,
Crash Course in Science,
Roxette,
Darondo,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Man Eating Sloth,
Grandmaster Flash,
Kevin Saunderson,
Motorama,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
Nils Olav,
Harpers Bizarre,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Camouflage,
Newcleus,
Organ,
The Blues Magoos,
Minnie Riperton,
John Coltrane,
Kurtis Blow,
Ludus,
Soft Cell,
Skarface,
Q and Not U, Q and Not U, Q and Not U, Q and Not U.
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.