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 Panama and from Woodstock.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Soft Boys show in Cambridge.
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 1962 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Jakarta.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school London 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 synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Unwound to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Doors. All the underground hits.
All De La Soul & Jungle Brothers tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sex Pistols record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Ice-T record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Con Funk Shun,
Bang On A Can,
Graham Central Station,
Monks,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Cluster,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Stockholm Monsters,
X-102,
Mantronix,
PIL,
Parry Music,
Excepter,
Matthew Bourne,
Spandau Ballet,
Nico,
Quantec,
Tim Buckley,
The Invisible,
Lyres,
the Slits,
E-Dancer,
Joyce Sims,
Bush Tetras,
The Detroit Cobras,
Sarah Menescal,
Rapeman,
The Slits,
Maurizio,
The Pop Group,
Dark Day,
Motorama,
Peter and Kerry,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Newcleus,
Kool Moe Dee,
Jacques Brel,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Aloha Tigers,
Deakin,
X-Ray Spex,
Half Japanese,
Gerry Rafferty,
The Smiths,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Ohio Players,
Model 500,
Matthew Halsall,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Judy Mowatt,
Reuben Wilson,
Rhythm & Sound,
A Certain Ratio,
John Coltrane,
The Monks,
Crime,
T. Rex,
The Pretty Things,
Joensuu 1685,
Desert Stars, Desert Stars, Desert Stars, Desert Stars.
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.