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 Gambia and from Paris.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1968 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 oboe 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 Scott Walker + Sunn O))) to the funk kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 F. McDonald. All the underground hits.
All Suburban Knight tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Lightning Bolt record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Anthony Braxton,
John Coltrane,
Andrew Hill,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Ten City,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Saccharine Trust,
Jerry's Kids,
The Pop Group,
Model 500,
ABC,
Thompson Twins,
Eric B and Rakim,
R.M.O.,
Faust,
The Real Kids,
Nirvana,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Quando Quango,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Agent Orange,
The Divine Comedy,
Piero Umiliani,
Echospace,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Lee Hazlewood,
OOIOO,
Eve St. Jones,
Chris & Cosey,
The Dave Clark Five,
Michelle Simonal,
Ice-T,
Masters at Work,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Spandau Ballet,
The Modern Lovers,
Robert Hood,
Radiopuhelimet,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Bluetip,
The Invisible,
Albert Ayler,
Tomorrow,
Wasted Youth,
Marcia Griffiths,
Cabaret Voltaire,
The Skatalites,
Porter Ricks,
Kevin Saunderson,
Panda Bear,
Agitation Free,
Cecil Taylor,
MDC,
Roxy Music,
Swans,
Spoonie Gee,
Maleditus Sound,
The Flesh Eaters,
Mary Jane Girls,
Marshall Jefferson,
Skarface, Skarface, Skarface, Skarface.
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.