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 Fiji and from Johannesburg.
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 1969 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow 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 marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Curtis Mayfield to the punk 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 Fear. All the underground hits.
All Colin Newman tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Ronan 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Angels of Light & Akron/Family record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar 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?
Slave,
Cheater Slicks,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Johnny Clarke,
Michelle Simonal,
The Stooges,
Reagan Youth,
FM Einheit,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Silicon Teens,
Al Stewart,
48th St. Collective,
Kenny Larkin,
Gabor Szabo,
The Toasters,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Isaac Hayes,
Gil Scott Heron,
Glambeats Corp.,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
The Wake,
The Evens,
Easy Going,
Basic Channel,
Minutemen,
KRS-One,
Nirvana,
Roy Ayers,
Henry Cow,
Lucky Dragons,
Niagra,
Albert Ayler,
Dawn Penn,
Sexual Harrassment,
Chrome,
Glenn Branca,
Marine Girls,
Eden Ahbez,
the Bar-Kays,
Peter and Kerry,
Audionom,
David Bowie,
Jandek,
Tropical Tobacco,
Graham Central Station,
Half Japanese,
The Young Rascals,
Aloha Tigers,
The New Christs,
Robert Wyatt,
The Detroit Cobras,
Masters at Work,
Archie Shepp,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Eric Copeland,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Mission of Burma,
Lower 48,
Sad Lovers and Giants, Sad Lovers and Giants, Sad Lovers and Giants, Sad Lovers and Giants.
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.