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 Sierra Leone and from Jakarta.
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 1962 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Buzzcocks to the techno kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Alice Coltrane. All the underground hits.
All Louis and Bebe Barron tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Donald Byrd record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Aaron Thompson record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Grey Daturas,
Brothers Johnson,
New York Dolls,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Rakim,
The Barracudas,
Traffic Nightmare,
Terry Callier,
Los Fastidios,
Scrapy,
The Slits,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
cv313,
Judy Mowatt,
Marshall Jefferson,
Man Parrish,
Shoche,
Big Daddy Kane,
Suicide,
Negative Approach,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Metal Thangz,
Gregory Isaacs,
Darondo,
Joyce Sims,
Banda Bassotti,
The Black Dice,
Wings,
Albert Ayler,
Yusef Lateef,
The Alarm Clocks,
June of 44,
Kerri Chandler,
DNA,
Desert Stars,
Crooked Eye,
Gil Scott Heron,
Shuggie Otis,
Dorothy Ashby,
David Bowie,
Unwound,
Dual Sessions,
Joe Smooth,
Prince Buster,
Eric B and Rakim,
Audionom,
Arcadia,
the Normal,
The Birthday Party,
Eurythmics,
Beasts of Bourbon,
The Smoke,
Talk Talk,
Glenn Branca,
Angry Samoans,
The Vogues,
Scientists,
Erasure,
A Certain Ratio,
F. McDonald,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Gang Starr, Gang Starr, Gang Starr, Gang Starr.
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.