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 Turkmenistan and from Shanghai.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch to the funk kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Suicide. All the underground hits.
All Cal Tjader tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Blues Magoos 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Erasure record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Moleskins,
The Divine Comedy,
Boogie Down Productions,
Amon Düül,
Aswad,
Black Moon,
Lungfish,
Tropical Tobacco,
Ralphi Rosario,
Lyres,
The Vogues,
June of 44,
The J.B.'s,
Tommy Roe,
Unrelated Segments,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Theoretical Girls,
The Residents,
Junior Murvin,
Grey Daturas,
K-Klass,
The New Christs,
Peter & Gordon,
Al Stewart,
Fluxion,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Rites of Spring,
B.T. Express,
Wolf Eyes,
Byron Stingily,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Erykah Badu,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Drive Like Jehu,
Bobby Womack,
Boz Scaggs,
The Skatalites,
AZ,
D'Angelo,
Matthew Bourne,
Stiv Bators,
Kenny Larkin,
Altered Images,
Rapeman,
Gregory Isaacs,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
The Fuzztones,
Cal Tjader,
The Beau Brummels,
The Saints,
Gong,
Gang Green,
Heaven 17,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Groovy Waters,
Gichy Dan,
Kool Moe Dee,
Lakeside,
Pet Shop Boys,
The Cure,
R.M.O.,
DJ Sneak, DJ Sneak, DJ Sneak, DJ Sneak.
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.