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 Seychelles and from Salvador.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1964 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Woodstock.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 marimba 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 Ultimate Spinach to the disco kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Beasts of Bourbon. All the underground hits.
All Thompson Twins tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Flesh Eaters record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a June Days record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Techniques,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Gil Scott Heron,
Glenn Branca,
Smog,
Arthur Verocai,
The Kinks,
Pere Ubu,
Bang On A Can,
Scratch Acid,
Kerri Chandler,
John Coltrane,
Howard Jones,
Aaron Thompson,
Traffic Nightmare,
Nick Fraelich,
Warsaw,
Sonny Sharrock,
Jerry's Kids,
Pagans,
Liliput,
Radio Birdman,
Curtis Mayfield,
Wasted Youth,
Sexual Harrassment,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Scrapy,
Mad Mike,
Blancmange,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
the Swans,
Adolescents,
Tres Demented,
Tubeway Army,
Michelle Simonal,
Pantytec,
Pulsallama,
Echospace,
Buzzcocks,
Schoolly D,
Ultimate Spinach,
Jesper Dahlback,
Slave,
Marshall Jefferson,
The Pretty Things,
X-102,
Swans,
R.M.O.,
the Normal,
Neil Young,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Livin' Joy,
The Dirtbombs,
Thee Headcoats,
Cheater Slicks,
Lower 48,
The Trojans,
Scan 7,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
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.