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 South Sudan and from Stockholm.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Fort Wilson Riot to the grime kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 The Grass Roots. All the underground hits.
All Quando Quango tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Avey Tare record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pierre Henry record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Slackers,
Bobby Sherman,
John Holt,
Lalo Schifrin,
Severed Heads,
the Bar-Kays,
The Knickerbockers,
Brass Construction,
Quadrant,
Jimmy McGriff,
Babytalk,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Rekid,
Malaria!,
Con Funk Shun,
Saccharine Trust,
Funkadelic,
The Modern Lovers,
U.S. Maple,
Smog,
Darondo,
Agent Orange,
Motorama,
The Saints,
Rotary Connection,
Y Pants,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Ultimate Spinach,
Ten City,
Shoche,
A Certain Ratio,
Pussy Galore,
Kurtis Blow,
The J.B.'s,
The Smoke,
Mantronix,
Country Teasers,
The Flesh Eaters,
Juan Atkins,
The Martian,
Mandrill,
The Five Americans,
DJ Sneak,
Rosa Yemen,
Dawn Penn,
Kool Moe Dee,
Sugar Minott,
Donald Byrd,
The Evens,
The Slits,
The Monks,
Jandek,
Pulsallama,
The Offenders,
Arthur Verocai,
The Detroit Cobras,
Joe Smooth,
the Slits,
Reuben Wilson,
Gang Gang Dance,
Sonny Sharrock, Sonny Sharrock, Sonny Sharrock, Sonny Sharrock.
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.