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 Jordan and from Copenhagen.
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 1966 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Columbus 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 1983 at the first Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the oboe 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 Fluxion to the grunge 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 It's A Beautiful Day. All the underground hits.
All The Birthday Party tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Invisible 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Chrome record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Flipper,
The Zeros,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Hashim,
The Trojans,
The Motions,
D'Angelo,
The Last Poets,
Magma,
David Bowie,
Intrusion,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Liliput,
Johnny Clarke,
Man Eating Sloth,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Swans,
Ludus,
Vladislav Delay,
Reuben Wilson,
Matthew Halsall,
Todd Terry,
Neu!,
The Fire Engines,
Khruangbin,
Gang Starr,
Absolute Body Control,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Scion,
Angry Samoans,
The Moody Blues,
E-Dancer,
Little Man,
Rites of Spring,
Mission of Burma,
Donny Hathaway,
Bill Near,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
The Dave Clark Five,
Pulsallama,
Motorama,
Reagan Youth,
Terry Callier,
Shuggie Otis,
Rhythm & Sound,
The Skatalites,
Tropical Tobacco,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
The Fall,
Bootsy Collins,
Animal Collective,
The Searchers,
JFA,
The Cure,
Electric Prunes,
Fort Wilson Riot,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Sound Behaviour,
Hot Snakes,
Deakin,
Depeche Mode,
Drive Like Jehu,
Buzzcocks, Buzzcocks, Buzzcocks, Buzzcocks.
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.