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 Lithuania and from Jakarta.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1962 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Cairo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 oboe 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 Popol Vuh to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Moby Grape. All the underground hits.
All Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Wasted Youth record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Electric Prunes record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Sisters of Mercy,
Harpers Bizarre,
Jimmy McGriff,
Mantronix,
EPMD,
The Monks,
Absolute Body Control,
Letta Mbulu,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
The Victims,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Radio Birdman,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Arthur Verocai,
MDC,
Con Funk Shun,
Jacques Brel,
The Gun Club,
Minny Pops,
The Modern Lovers,
The Stooges,
Reuben Wilson,
Harmonia,
Faust,
Tommy Roe,
Andrew Hill,
Robert Görl,
Janne Schatter,
Easy Going,
Buzzcocks,
Mission of Burma,
Audionom,
David Bowie,
H. Thieme,
The Durutti Column,
The Happenings,
The Dead C,
the Swans,
Oneida,
Sam Rivers,
Charles Mingus,
Glenn Branca,
Wally Richardson,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Funky Four + One,
Danielle Patucci,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Heaven 17,
Babytalk,
Ice-T,
the Human League,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Angry Samoans,
Sällskapet,
Davy DMX,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
The Human League,
Nils Olav,
R.M.O.,
Y Pants,
Joey Negro,
Joyce Sims,
Scrapy, Scrapy, Scrapy, Scrapy.
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.