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 Ukraine and from Beijing.
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 1963 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Milan.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 1979 at the first Josef K practice in a loft in Edinburgh.
I was working on the guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Birthday Party to the funk kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 The Martian. All the underground hits.
All Terry Callier tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Derrick Morgan record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gerry Rafferty record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Last Poets,
Electric Prunes,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Robert Hood,
Black Sheep,
The Vogues,
Pylon,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Arcadia,
Brand Nubian,
Rhythm & Sound,
The Divine Comedy,
Khruangbin,
Gong,
Sly & The Family Stone,
The Knickerbockers,
Radiopuhelimet,
Pierre Henry,
Derrick May,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Davy DMX,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Tim Buckley,
Joe Smooth,
Interpol,
Alice Coltrane,
The Selecter,
The Victims,
The Seeds,
Inner City,
The Associates,
Soulsonic Force,
Lalo Schifrin,
Suburban Knight,
Shuggie Otis,
Black Pus,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Nation of Ulysses,
Gastr Del Sol,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Spandau Ballet,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Grey Daturas,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
PIL,
Andrew Hill,
Simply Red,
Von Mondo,
Aswad,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Qualms,
The Move,
The Index,
Ituana,
Joy Division,
New Age Steppers,
Soft Cell,
Thompson Twins,
The Cowsills,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
X-Ray Spex,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Tubeway Army, Tubeway Army, Tubeway Army, Tubeway Army.
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.