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 Trinidad & Tobago and from New York.
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 1967 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 1978 at the first Visage practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the organ 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 Art Ensemble Of Chicago to the funk 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 Strawberry Alarm Clock. All the underground hits.
All Black Moon tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Tom Boy record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco 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 mellotron and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Blackbyrds record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Graham Central Station,
Saccharine Trust,
Symarip,
Nick Fraelich,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
The Gap Band,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Buzzcocks,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Mars,
The Barracudas,
The Detroit Cobras,
The Durutti Column,
June Days,
Dual Sessions,
Average White Band,
Hot Snakes,
Blossom Toes,
Charles Mingus,
Robert Wyatt,
New York Dolls,
John Lydon,
Grandmaster Flash,
Masters at Work,
Man Eating Sloth,
Joe Smooth,
Wings,
Faust,
Flash Fearless,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Alphaville,
The Monochrome Set,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Harry Pussy,
Kool Moe Dee,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
JFA,
Reuben Wilson,
Throbbing Gristle,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Bobby Byrd,
Crime,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Idris Muhammad,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Lou Christie,
The Busters,
Lalo Schifrin,
Robert Hood,
The Fire Engines,
Bluetip,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Heaven 17,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Pagans,
Minutemen,
Black Flag,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Unwound,
The Names,
Johnny Clarke,
Angry Samoans,
Ituana,
Eric Copeland,
The Birthday Party, The Birthday Party, The Birthday Party, The Birthday Party.
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.