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 Ecuador and from Toronto.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Feelies show in Haledon.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Spokane and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lyon 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 Holger Czukay 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 Throbbing Gristle to the electroclash 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 Hot Snakes. All the underground hits.
All Chris & Cosey tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Symarip record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 spring reverb and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Alarm Clocks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Connie Case,
B.T. Express,
Camouflage,
Warsaw,
F. McDonald,
Sight & Sound,
Magma,
Newcleus,
Mission of Burma,
Lungfish,
Livin' Joy,
Bizarre Inc.,
Rekid,
These Immortal Souls,
Electric Prunes,
Reagan Youth,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Yazoo,
Chris & Cosey,
Fear,
Public Image Ltd.,
Graham Central Station,
The Human League,
Bluetip,
The Detroit Cobras,
Sam Rivers,
Drive Like Jehu,
Tears for Fears,
Byron Stingily,
The Black Dice,
Anakelly,
The Last Poets,
Godley & Creme,
The Fall,
The Standells,
Al Stewart,
Eric B and Rakim,
The Invisible,
Scion,
Vladislav Delay,
The Stooges,
Dennis Brown,
Carl Craig,
Wasted Youth,
The Smiths,
Outsiders,
Radio Birdman,
Pere Ubu,
Nik Kershaw,
Flipper,
The Angels of Light,
The Names,
The Seeds,
Quantec,
Skriet,
Barrington Levy,
Ultimate Spinach,
Los Fastidios,
Television,
The Slits,
Parry Music,
Prince Buster,
The Music Machine, The Music Machine, The Music Machine, The Music Machine.
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.