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 Mexico and from Columbus.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1966 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the rhodes 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 Von Mondo to the dance 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 Eric B and Rakim. All the underground hits.
All T.S.O.L. tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bob Dylan 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 an oboe and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Fela Kuti record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Cosmic Jokers,
Chrome,
Grauzone,
the Bar-Kays,
The Star Department,
Niagra,
Ituana,
Yusef Lateef,
Blake Baxter,
the Normal,
The Slits,
Harry Pussy,
Whodini,
Trumans Water,
Archie Shepp,
Rosa Yemen,
Terrestrial Tones,
Negative Approach,
Hoover,
Fluxion,
Half Japanese,
Derrick May,
Eden Ahbez,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Loose Ends,
Dark Day,
Masters at Work,
Soulsonic Force,
FM Einheit,
Susan Cadogan,
Anthony Braxton,
Electric Prunes,
Buzzcocks,
Flipper,
The Searchers,
The Doors,
Sly & The Family Stone,
the Soft Cell,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Ken Boothe,
Bizarre Inc.,
Gerry Rafferty,
Magma,
E-Dancer,
The Smoke,
Wasted Youth,
Gastr Del Sol,
Au Pairs,
Jeff Mills,
Sexual Harrassment,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
John Foxx,
Robert Wyatt,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Roxette,
Shuggie Otis,
Ronan,
Bootsy Collins,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
The Walker Brothers,
Boz Scaggs,
Echospace, Echospace, Echospace, Echospace.
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.