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 Moldova and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television show in New York.
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 1962 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bremen and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tokyo 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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 La Düsseldorf to the dance 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 The Men They Couldn't Hang. All the underground hits.
All Todd Rundgren tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Motorama record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Cowsills record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes 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?
The Residents,
Suicide,
Cameo,
Bill Wells,
Rod Modell,
Japan,
Gong,
10cc,
The Motions,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
The Fire Engines,
China Crisis,
Black Sheep,
Gabor Szabo,
Sight & Sound,
Essential Logic,
Traffic Nightmare,
Basic Channel,
Dennis Brown,
Dorothy Ashby,
Crispy Ambulance,
Lindisfarne,
Flipper,
The Gories,
ABBA,
Boz Scaggs,
FM Einheit,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Hashim,
Michelle Simonal,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Anthony Braxton,
Sam Rivers,
The Monks,
Supertramp,
Kerrie Biddell,
The United States of America,
Intrusion,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Gastr Del Sol,
Sun Ra,
The Fugs,
Prince Buster,
Masters at Work,
Laurel Aitken,
Siglo XX,
The Mojo Men,
Technova,
Unwound,
Albert Ayler,
Urselle,
Soft Cell,
Derrick May,
Bobby Sherman,
Swans,
Arab on Radar,
Susan Cadogan,
Ultra Naté,
The Count Five,
Malaria!,
Sex Pistols,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Amon Düül, Amon Düül, Amon Düül, Amon Düül.
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.