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 Panama and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Art of Noise 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 1968 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the sitar 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 The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band to the electroclash kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Quando Quango. All the underground hits.
All Popol Vuh tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Wake record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 güiro and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Stetsasonic record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Inner City,
The Raincoats,
Gastr Del Sol,
Nik Kershaw,
Smog,
Circle Jerks,
One Last Wish,
Arcadia,
Barrington Levy,
The Happenings,
Silicon Teens,
James White and The Blacks,
Joe Finger,
Graham Central Station,
Nico,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Bob Dylan,
Youth Brigade,
Make Up,
Accadde A,
Essential Logic,
PIL,
Althea and Donna,
Schoolly D,
Surgeon,
Bizarre Inc.,
The Alarm Clocks,
Tubeway Army,
Crime,
Donald Byrd,
the Swans,
Duran Duran,
Groovy Waters,
Newcleus,
Pantytec,
Black Bananas,
The Associates,
Ituana,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Crooked Eye,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
the Human League,
Suicide,
Roy Ayers,
The Velvet Underground,
Scott Walker,
Kerri Chandler,
The Wake,
Joey Negro,
Charles Mingus,
Nick Fraelich,
Drexciya,
Shoche,
Don Cherry,
The Detroit Cobras,
Con Funk Shun,
Wire,
The Cowsills,
Von Mondo,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Bush Tetras,
Public Image Ltd.,
Erykah Badu,
Grauzone, Grauzone, Grauzone, Grauzone.
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.