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 Guinea-Bissau and from Salvador.
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 1960 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Manchester.
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 1983 at the first Bronski Beat practice in a loft in Brixton.
I was working on the 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell to the crunk kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Crispian St. Peters. All the underground hits.
All Pole tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Anthony Braxton 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a FM Einheit record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Kerri Chandler,
John Holt,
Sonny Sharrock,
Joyce Sims,
Gichy Dan,
Moebius,
Slave,
The Neon Judgement,
Sex Pistols,
Suicide,
Susan Cadogan,
the Soft Cell,
Black Flag,
Black Moon,
Connie Case,
Anakelly,
Boz Scaggs,
Ronnie Foster,
Circle Jerks,
Magazine,
Sam Rivers,
Altered Images,
Television Personalities,
Grey Daturas,
The Durutti Column,
The Motions,
Groovy Waters,
Rekid,
Loose Ends,
Lalann,
The Kinks,
Curtis Mayfield,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
The Names,
Fluxion,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
The Doors,
Colin Newman,
Half Japanese,
Jacques Brel,
Hashim,
10cc,
Tropical Tobacco,
Bobby Womack,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Brothers Johnson,
Pole,
Mr. Review,
Johnny Clarke,
Oblivians,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Dark Day,
Freddie Wadling,
Grandmaster Flash,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Jawbox,
Kaleidoscope,
The Flesh Eaters,
Bluetip,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Ken Boothe,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Von Mondo, Von Mondo, Von Mondo, Von Mondo.
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.