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 Croatia and from Jakarta.
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 1966 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Calgary and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lagos 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 organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Leaves to the rap 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 Al Stewart. All the underground hits.
All Kaleidoscope tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Lungfish 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Wasted Youth,
T.S.O.L.,
Piero Umiliani,
These Immortal Souls,
Bauhaus,
Andrew Hill,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Index,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Barclay James Harvest,
Severed Heads,
The Fire Engines,
Stiv Bators,
Wire,
David Axelrod,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
The Litter,
John Coltrane,
The Beau Brummels,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Lightning Bolt,
Flash Fearless,
The Knickerbockers,
Amon Düül II,
Magma,
Sexual Harrassment,
Sam Rivers,
Barbara Tucker,
Kurtis Blow,
Sugar Minott,
Minutemen,
The Fuzztones,
Lower 48,
Das Ding,
The Saints,
Tomorrow,
L. Decosne,
Bush Tetras,
Quando Quango,
Bizarre Inc.,
Harry Pussy,
Silicon Teens,
The Black Dice,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Animal Collective,
Funkadelic,
The Grass Roots,
Pagans,
Dave Gahan,
Crash Course in Science,
the Bar-Kays,
the Fania All-Stars,
The Golliwogs,
Black Flag,
James White and The Blacks,
K-Klass,
Heaven 17,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Mr. Review,
Sixth Finger,
Depeche Mode,
Jandek,
Lungfish, Lungfish, Lungfish, Lungfish.
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.