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 Australia and from Taipei.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Lagos.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 arpeggiator 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 Albert Ayler to the punk 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 Sex Pistols. All the underground hits.
All Chris & Cosey tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bobby Hutcherson 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gian Franco Pienzio record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
The Smiths,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Graham Central Station,
Skarface,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Agitation Free,
Glenn Branca,
Isaac Hayes,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Connie Case,
Surgeon,
Thee Headcoats,
Porter Ricks,
LL Cool J,
Arcadia,
Terrestrial Tones,
The Raincoats,
Skaos,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Kerri Chandler,
Echospace,
The Knickerbockers,
Donald Byrd,
Idris Muhammad,
Joyce Sims,
Clear Light,
Joensuu 1685,
Alton Ellis,
The Misunderstood,
Rotary Connection,
Spandau Ballet,
The Angels of Light,
This Heat,
Brick,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
The Standells,
DJ Style,
Angry Samoans,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Stetsasonic,
Agent Orange,
Newcleus,
Donny Hathaway,
Jerry's Kids,
Soul Sonic Force,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Livin' Joy,
Bootsy Collins,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Jesper Dahlback,
John Lydon,
Arab on Radar,
Television Personalities,
Flamin' Groovies,
Massinfluence,
Liliput,
Stockholm Monsters,
John Coltrane,
Average White Band,
The Red Krayola,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Gichy Dan,
Lou Reed, Lou Reed, Lou Reed, Lou Reed.
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.