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 Luxembourg and from London.
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 1961 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Halifax and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Edmonton 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 808 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 T. Rex to the rap 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 Second Layer. All the underground hits.
All The Doobie Brothers tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Little Man 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 an oboe and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Ice-T record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Magazine,
Wings,
Frankie Knuckles,
Wire,
Donny Hathaway,
Q65,
Sun City Girls,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Technova,
John Coltrane,
The Dead C,
Tres Demented,
Angry Samoans,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Intrusion,
Dark Day,
Anakelly,
Mo-Dettes,
Marc Almond,
Pierre Henry,
Sound Behaviour,
The Fire Engines,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Schoolly D,
The Smoke,
E-Dancer,
Gregory Isaacs,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Graham Central Station,
Jacques Brel,
Bobby Sherman,
The Five Americans,
Soul II Soul,
Spoonie Gee,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Soft Cell,
Suicide,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
The Dave Clark Five,
Drexciya,
Tears for Fears,
Lalann,
Oneida,
Faust,
Tubeway Army,
Ludus,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
China Crisis,
Archie Shepp,
Scion,
H. Thieme,
Roger Hodgson,
John Lydon,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Darondo,
Ultimate Spinach,
Wally Richardson,
Camberwell Now,
The Monks,
Slave,
Ten City, Ten City, Ten City, Ten City.
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.