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 Liberia and from Mumbai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1963 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 1976 at the first Buzzcocks practice in a loft in Bolton.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Lizzy Mercier Descloux to the disco 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 Jesper Dahlback. All the underground hits.
All Soft Cell tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz 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 sitar and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sam Rivers record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Cymande,
Roxy Music,
Negative Approach,
JFA,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Archie Shepp,
Ultravox,
Kurtis Blow,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Freddie Wadling,
Camouflage,
Skarface,
The Mummies,
The Trojans,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Talk Talk,
The Happenings,
Mad Mike,
Matthew Halsall,
Bob Dylan,
La Düsseldorf,
Crooked Eye,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
The Evens,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Section 25,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Jandek,
The Tremeloes,
Eve St. Jones,
Cecil Taylor,
Con Funk Shun,
X-101,
New York Dolls,
Marcia Griffiths,
The Last Poets,
Don Cherry,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Yazoo,
The Smiths,
Severed Heads,
The American Breed,
The New Christs,
Patti Smith,
Crispy Ambulance,
Aural Exciters,
Bad Manners,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Audionom,
Maleditus Sound,
The Fugs,
Kevin Saunderson,
Fela Kuti,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
The Neon Judgement,
The Young Rascals,
The Pretty Things,
Lou Reed,
Bill Near,
Khruangbin,
Shoche, Shoche, Shoche, Shoche.
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.