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 Namibia 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 1964 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Calgary 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 Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Quando Quango to the dance 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 B.T. Express. All the underground hits.
All Thee Headcoats tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pylon 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Scrapy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Mighty Diamonds,
the Bar-Kays,
Scott Walker,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Ohio Players,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
John Lydon,
Hashim,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Technova,
Siglo XX,
Lightning Bolt,
Severed Heads,
T. Rex,
Maurizio,
The Doors,
The Velvet Underground,
Kevin Saunderson,
Man Eating Sloth,
Man Parrish,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
The Offenders,
Guru Guru,
Susan Cadogan,
Flamin' Groovies,
Pulsallama,
The Seeds,
Magma,
Morten Harket,
The Sound,
Glenn Branca,
The Barracudas,
Oblivians,
Shoche,
Bronski Beat,
Fugazi,
Public Enemy,
Royal Trux,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
The Searchers,
The Pretty Things,
Crime,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Neu!,
MDC,
Steve Hackett,
June Days,
Dennis Brown,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Niagra,
Tim Buckley,
Talk Talk,
The Buckinghams,
The Flesh Eaters,
Agent Orange,
Fear,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
A Certain Ratio,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Youth Brigade,
Section 25,
Pole,
Bootsy Collins, Bootsy Collins, Bootsy Collins, Bootsy Collins.
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.