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 Russia and from Houston.
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 1963 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Milan.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow 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 Soft Boys practice in a loft in Cambridge.
I was working on the rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 The Men They Couldn't Hang to the grunge kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Wally Richardson. All the underground hits.
All Mars tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bobby Sherman record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a theremin 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 snare and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sixth Finger,
Sugar Minott,
Susan Cadogan,
Babytalk,
Pierre Henry,
John Lydon,
Yusef Lateef,
Lindisfarne,
Fifty Foot Hose,
ABC,
Yaz,
Black Sheep,
Gregory Isaacs,
Bang On A Can,
Jandek,
Yellowson,
L. Decosne,
Desert Stars,
Big Daddy Kane,
Peter and Kerry,
Pantaleimon,
DNA,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
The Barracudas,
Juan Atkins,
Stockholm Monsters,
Nick Fraelich,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Radiopuhelimet,
Eve St. Jones,
Throbbing Gristle,
Schoolly D,
Guru Guru,
Terry Callier,
Roger Hodgson,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Al Stewart,
Davy DMX,
The Vogues,
Wasted Youth,
Fear,
The Durutti Column,
John Cale,
Metal Thangz,
Ken Boothe,
Grauzone,
Bauhaus,
Massinfluence,
Zapp,
The Gories,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Lou Christie,
Jeff Mills,
Rites of Spring,
Joyce Sims,
One Last Wish,
The Gun Club,
Eddi Front,
Trumans Water,
Crispy Ambulance,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Royal Trux, Royal Trux, Royal Trux, Royal Trux.
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.