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 Brazil and from Toronto.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Art of Noise 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 1966 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mexico City 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 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 Charles Mingus to the rock kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Camron Feat. Jay Z And Juelz. All the underground hits.
All The Smiths tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Ponytail 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Oppenheimer Analysis record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Robert Wyatt,
H. Thieme,
Oblivians,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Audionom,
The Count Five,
Albert Ayler,
The Index,
Sam Rivers,
Index,
The Mummies,
The Fire Engines,
Deakin,
The Slackers,
The Pretty Things,
Judy Mowatt,
Inner City,
X-Ray Spex,
Ken Boothe,
Warsaw,
Suicide,
Drexciya,
Malaria!,
The Real Kids,
Patti Smith,
Moebius,
La Düsseldorf,
Make Up,
Ponytail,
Deadbeat,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
The American Breed,
Minnie Riperton,
The Techniques,
Pulsallama,
The Selecter,
the Bar-Kays,
Pagans,
Dennis Brown,
Little Man,
Lyres,
Mo-Dettes,
Dead Boys,
Brand Nubian,
Hoover,
Model 500,
Nirvana,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Robert Hood,
The Gun Club,
The Fortunes,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Gregory Isaacs,
The Black Dice,
Intrusion,
The Moleskins,
kango's stein massive,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Susan Cadogan,
Lee Hazlewood,
Fugazi,
The Durutti Column,
Y Pants, Y Pants, Y Pants, Y Pants.
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.