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 Uzbekistan and from Salvador.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 spring reverb 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 Byron Stingily to the grunge kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Andrew Hill tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Freddie Wadling record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 snare and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Eli Mardock record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Robert Hood,
Iggy Pop,
8 Eyed Spy,
Rod Modell,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Blake Baxter,
Tropical Tobacco,
Sex Pistols,
Steve Hackett,
Trumans Water,
Nico,
the Association,
Scratch Acid,
The Doors,
Henry Cow,
The Gladiators,
Eli Mardock,
Scrapy,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Ralphi Rosario,
K-Klass,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Outsiders,
Arthur Verocai,
Amazonics,
Aaron Thompson,
The Smiths,
Moss Icon,
Vainqueur,
Minor Threat,
Ponytail,
Unwound,
The Count Five,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Crash Course in Science,
Bizarre Inc.,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Freddie Wadling,
The Five Americans,
The Flesh Eaters,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Lindisfarne,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Minnie Riperton,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
The Divine Comedy,
Inner City,
Wasted Youth,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Aloha Tigers,
Smog,
Scott Walker,
Crooked Eye,
These Immortal Souls,
Moby Grape,
Cymande,
The Techniques,
Sixth Finger,
Electric Prunes,
Maleditus Sound,
Gerry Rafferty,
Bauhaus, Bauhaus, Bauhaus, Bauhaus.
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.