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 Beijing.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South 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 1967 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tokyo and Jakarta.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow 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 organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Stockholm Monsters to the grime 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 Wolf Eyes. All the underground hits.
All Average White Band tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Real Kids record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Dirtbombs record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Surgeon,
The Doors,
Vladislav Delay,
Janne Schatter,
Scrapy,
Eric B and Rakim,
Black Bananas,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
The Angels of Light,
The Misunderstood,
Eli Mardock,
Alphaville,
Eve St. Jones,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Crash Course in Science,
Q and Not U,
Don Cherry,
Crispy Ambulance,
Angry Samoans,
Porter Ricks,
Silicon Teens,
La Düsseldorf,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Lalo Schifrin,
John Foxx,
Amazonics,
Grauzone,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
The Smoke,
Young Marble Giants,
The Motions,
The Names,
Livin' Joy,
Wasted Youth,
Bill Near,
Man Parrish,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Suburban Knight,
ABC,
The Toasters,
The Monochrome Set,
CMW,
Alton Ellis,
Guru Guru,
The Fire Engines,
Brass Construction,
The Vogues,
The Count Five,
Bootsy Collins,
Harry Pussy,
Bush Tetras,
Scratch Acid,
Eyeless In Gaza,
The Shadows of Knight,
Suicide,
Sex Pistols,
The Selecter,
The Happenings,
Unrelated Segments,
Lucky Dragons,
Crime, Crime, Crime, Crime.
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.