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 Liberia and from London.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Jakarta 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 guitar 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 The Pretty Things to the crunk kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo. All the underground hits.
All The Doors tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Barracudas record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Con Funk Shun record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Mars,
The Pop Group,
The Moleskins,
Anakelly,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Brass Construction,
Alphaville,
the Normal,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
The Red Krayola,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Thee Headcoats,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Spoonie Gee,
Gastr Del Sol,
Television,
Beasts of Bourbon,
June of 44,
Nick Fraelich,
The Young Rascals,
X-102,
Main Source,
Yaz,
Leonard Cohen,
Gerry Rafferty,
Bobby Sherman,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Rod Modell,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Lower 48,
La Düsseldorf,
FM Einheit,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
The Dead C,
Idris Muhammad,
Bobby Womack,
Minny Pops,
The Monks,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Pantytec,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Groovy Waters,
Grauzone,
Stereo Dub,
Boredoms,
Sandy B,
Susan Cadogan,
The Beau Brummels,
Quadrant,
Ronnie Foster,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Derrick Morgan,
Jeff Mills,
CMW,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Arthur Verocai,
Section 25,
The Techniques,
Howard Jones,
Ornette Coleman,
Minutemen,
Dual Sessions,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Echospace,
8 Eyed Spy, 8 Eyed Spy, 8 Eyed Spy, 8 Eyed Spy.
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.