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 Bahamas and from Edmonton.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 1961 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 güiro 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 Bad Manners to the rap kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Roger Hodgson. All the underground hits.
All Crash Course in Science tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Matthew Bourne 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Tropical Tobacco 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 Skatalites,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
The Toasters,
Swell Maps,
Pylon,
John Foxx,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Tres Demented,
Cameo,
Graham Central Station,
Fugazi,
Agent Orange,
Lightning Bolt,
Zero Boys,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Andrew Hill,
Moebius,
Shoche,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Funkadelic,
Ultimate Spinach,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
the Bar-Kays,
DNA,
Sex Pistols,
David Axelrod,
Curtis Mayfield,
Aloha Tigers,
Magazine,
The Pop Group,
Ossler,
Colin Newman,
Donny Hathaway,
Howard Jones,
Gang Starr,
Camberwell Now,
Jacques Brel,
Eddi Front,
The Zeros,
Lucky Dragons,
The Durutti Column,
The Moleskins,
Brass Construction,
Fluxion,
the Normal,
The Pretty Things,
Minutemen,
Joe Smooth,
Ten City,
The Index,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Loose Ends,
Negative Approach,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Sarah Menescal,
Arcadia,
Soft Machine,
Bobby Sherman,
Goldenarms,
Robert Wyatt,
Anthony Braxton,
Flipper, Flipper, Flipper, Flipper.
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.