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 Mozambique and from Milan.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Halifax 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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Brick to the electroclash 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 Absolute Body Control. All the underground hits.
All Wally Richardson tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every David Bowie record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime 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 808 and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a China Crisis record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Suicide,
The Shadows of Knight,
The Last Poets,
D'Angelo,
Parry Music,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Fat Boys,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
The Young Rascals,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
The Real Kids,
Scan 7,
Ituana,
Gang Starr,
Heaven 17,
Pagans,
Marvin Gaye,
Ludus,
Barry Ungar,
Erykah Badu,
The Selecter,
Stiv Bators,
Blake Baxter,
Bauhaus,
Spoonie Gee,
The Golliwogs,
The Zeros,
Intrusion,
Amon Düül,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Aural Exciters,
Dorothy Ashby,
Bush Tetras,
Minutemen,
Neil Young,
Cheater Slicks,
Iggy Pop,
Kenny Larkin,
Los Fastidios,
The Busters,
David Bowie,
Depeche Mode,
Guru Guru,
Eric Dolphy,
Throbbing Gristle,
Marcia Griffiths,
The Toasters,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
In Retrospect,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Mo-Dettes,
Kerrie Biddell,
Traffic Nightmare,
Alice Coltrane,
Section 25,
Outsiders,
Warren Ellis,
Ultimate Spinach,
Hoover, Hoover, Hoover, Hoover.
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.