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 Equatorial Guinea and from Manchester.
But I was there.
I was there in 1984.
I was there at the first Arcadia 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 1963 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lille 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 spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 ABC to the grunge 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 Ash Ra Tempel. All the underground hits.
All Eric B and Rakim tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Roger Hodgson record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash 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 guitar and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Franke record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
La Düsseldorf,
Pierre Henry,
Funkadelic,
Organ,
Little Man,
Rhythm & Sound,
Wire,
Grey Daturas,
The Tremeloes,
Jeru the Damaja,
Minnie Riperton,
Icehouse,
Leonard Cohen,
Niagra,
Japan,
The Busters,
The Blackbyrds,
Sound Behaviour,
Make Up,
Dorothy Ashby,
The Knickerbockers,
Glenn Branca,
The Seeds,
The Doobie Brothers,
Ultimate Spinach,
Soft Machine,
UT,
Agent Orange,
Ponytail,
Neil Young,
Simply Red,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Barbara Tucker,
Blossom Toes,
Rotary Connection,
B.T. Express,
The Music Machine,
Cal Tjader,
The Happenings,
Bad Manners,
The Selecter,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Matthew Bourne,
The Misunderstood,
Sixth Finger,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Thee Headcoats,
Nick Fraelich,
Althea and Donna,
Glambeats Corp.,
Subhumans,
John Cale,
The Last Poets,
Quantec,
The Star Department,
the Slits,
Tomorrow,
Joey Negro,
Darondo,
New York Dolls,
Gil Scott Heron, Gil Scott Heron, Gil Scott Heron, Gil Scott Heron.
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.