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 India and from Spokane.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide show in New York.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in New York and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Calgary 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 sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Junior Murvin to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Letta Mbulu. All the underground hits.
All Strawberry Alarm Clock tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Kings Of Tomorrow 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Pretty Things record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a 808.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Soft Machine,
The Slackers,
Kurtis Blow,
The Monks,
Inner City,
The Alarm Clocks,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
The Cramps,
Hasil Adkins,
Bill Wells,
OOIOO,
Parry Music,
the Bar-Kays,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Aswad,
Rosa Yemen,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Pole,
CMW,
Sonic Youth,
Kerri Chandler,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Yazoo,
The Motions,
Sam Rivers,
Liliput,
Severed Heads,
The Doobie Brothers,
Soul Sonic Force,
The Buckinghams,
The Invisible,
Byron Stingily,
Theoretical Girls,
Moebius,
Joe Smooth,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Howard Jones,
The Durutti Column,
Skriet,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Joy Division,
Chris Corsano,
Radiopuhelimet,
Dark Day,
Bizarre Inc.,
Jimmy McGriff,
Brick,
Fat Boys,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Colin Newman,
Glambeats Corp.,
The Misunderstood,
Spandau Ballet,
Joe Finger,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Lucky Dragons,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Patti Smith,
Can,
Monks, Monks, Monks, Monks.
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.