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 Angola and from Bremen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Feelies show in Haledon.
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 1969 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Cairo 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 harpsichord 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 Visage to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Sun Ra. All the underground hits.
All 48th St. Collective tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Arab on Radar 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a David Bowie record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Henry Cow,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Zapp,
Avey Tare,
Wally Richardson,
Skaos,
Kevin Saunderson,
Stockholm Monsters,
B.T. Express,
The Fuzztones,
The Gladiators,
Blancmange,
Frankie Knuckles,
DJ Sneak,
Arthur Verocai,
Brothers Johnson,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Glenn Branca,
The Misunderstood,
Animal Collective,
The Dead C,
Morten Harket,
Masters at Work,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
LL Cool J,
Clear Light,
Technova,
Eden Ahbez,
Archie Shepp,
Hasil Adkins,
Minor Threat,
Skriet,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Wasted Youth,
Boogie Down Productions,
The Toasters,
Wolf Eyes,
Bizarre Inc.,
Harry Pussy,
The Gun Club,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Faust,
Television Personalities,
Lalann,
Main Source,
Robert Görl,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
the Fania All-Stars,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
The Electric Prunes,
Qualms,
The Names,
June Days,
John Lydon,
Unrelated Segments,
Eyeless In Gaza,
a-ha,
Terrestrial Tones,
Wire,
Guru Guru,
Sexual Harrassment,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo, Kool G Rap & DJ Polo, Kool G Rap & DJ Polo, Kool G Rap & DJ Polo.
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.