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 Madagascar and from Taipei.
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 1965 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Tokyo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 1976 at the first Buzzcocks practice in a loft in Bolton.
I was working on the rhodes 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 Cluster to the crunk kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 H. Thieme. All the underground hits.
All Mandrill tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Banda Bassotti record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 guitar and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a EPMD record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Steve Hackett,
The Motions,
Wings,
Letta Mbulu,
Mantronix,
Arthur Verocai,
The Evens,
Jacques Brel,
Piero Umiliani,
Eric B and Rakim,
Warsaw,
cv313,
48th St. Collective,
Ohio Players,
Stereo Dub,
Parry Music,
Banda Bassotti,
Television,
Fad Gadget,
Ronan,
The Black Dice,
Subhumans,
B.T. Express,
The Moleskins,
The Last Poets,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Crime,
The Standells,
Pylon,
Fugazi,
Visage,
Blossom Toes,
Smog,
Graham Central Station,
Yazoo,
Main Source,
New Age Steppers,
Dead Boys,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
The Kinks,
Harmonia,
Michelle Simonal,
The Young Rascals,
Drexciya,
Throbbing Gristle,
The Fuzztones,
The Gladiators,
Fela Kuti,
Stockholm Monsters,
Nik Kershaw,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Oneida,
Suburban Knight,
The Cure,
Matthew Bourne,
the Normal,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Glenn Branca,
Fluxion,
Scientists,
Con Funk Shun,
Sonic Youth, Sonic Youth, Sonic Youth, Sonic Youth.
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.