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 Yemen and from Accra.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tokyo and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 Tom Verlaine 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 Q65 to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Public Image Ltd.. All the underground hits.
All Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Golliwogs 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a a-ha record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Depeche Mode,
Livin' Joy,
Dennis Brown,
Jeru the Damaja,
Steve Hackett,
Lalo Schifrin,
Sex Pistols,
Connie Case,
Eric Copeland,
Jerry Gold Smith,
The Star Department,
Animal Collective,
The Monks,
Skriet,
Desert Stars,
Sixth Finger,
Ludus,
Tubeway Army,
The Trojans,
Scrapy,
Eric Dolphy,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Rapeman,
Grauzone,
Sexual Harrassment,
John Coltrane,
Brick,
The Residents,
Flamin' Groovies,
The Invisible,
Smog,
Funky Four + One,
The Dead C,
Inner City,
The Techniques,
Arcadia,
Camberwell Now,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Average White Band,
Deadbeat,
In Retrospect,
Al Stewart,
Magazine,
Blake Baxter,
Das Ding,
ABC,
Gang Gang Dance,
Television,
The Divine Comedy,
Crispy Ambulance,
X-101,
Wally Richardson,
Johnny Osbourne,
Pet Shop Boys,
Absolute Body Control,
Harry Pussy,
Dual Sessions,
Marc Almond,
The Gun Club,
Infiniti,
DNA,
the Swans,
Lalann,
Slave, Slave, Slave, Slave.
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.