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 Burkina and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1978.
I was there at the first Visage 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 1961 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mumbai 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 rhodes 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 Excepter to the techno kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 K-Klass. All the underground hits.
All The United States of America tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Mantronix 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Talk Talk 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?
Angry Samoans,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
R.M.O.,
Kayak,
Grauzone,
One Last Wish,
Gabor Szabo,
Easy Going,
The Electric Prunes,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Bill Wells,
Royal Trux,
Guru Guru,
Pylon,
Main Source,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Gerry Rafferty,
Gang Starr,
Fela Kuti,
James White and The Blacks,
The Pretty Things,
Robert Hood,
Brothers Johnson,
Mars,
Barclay James Harvest,
The Last Poets,
The Fortunes,
Funkadelic,
Newcleus,
Rites of Spring,
Motorama,
Interpol,
Jeru the Damaja,
Soulsonic Force,
Matthew Bourne,
Mission of Burma,
Kurtis Blow,
The Blues Magoos,
PIL,
Colin Newman,
F. McDonald,
Echospace,
The Misunderstood,
Index,
Sex Pistols,
Althea and Donna,
Roxette,
Fad Gadget,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
The Shadows of Knight,
Wolf Eyes,
Delon & Dalcan,
The Invisible,
Agent Orange,
Bob Dylan,
ABBA,
The Mighty Diamonds,
The Litter,
Thompson Twins,
Franke,
Rosa Yemen,
This Heat, This Heat, This Heat, This Heat.
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.