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 Jordan and from Bologna.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide 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 1963 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tokyo and Milan.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 güiro sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Soft Cell to the punk 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 Bauhaus. All the underground hits.
All Erykah Badu tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Rhythim Is Rhythim 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an organ and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Oppenheimer Analysis record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Suicide,
Al Stewart,
the Bar-Kays,
John Lydon,
Jeff Lynne,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Boz Scaggs,
Michelle Simonal,
The Alarm Clocks,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Porter Ricks,
The Gun Club,
Hardrive,
Soft Cell,
Anakelly,
Quando Quango,
The Blackbyrds,
Black Pus,
David Bowie,
Masters at Work,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Colin Newman,
Banda Bassotti,
Barrington Levy,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Eric Dolphy,
Man Eating Sloth,
Monks,
Jeru the Damaja,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Godley & Creme,
Letta Mbulu,
Basic Channel,
Gang Starr,
Robert Hood,
The Leaves,
Circle Jerks,
The Flesh Eaters,
China Crisis,
Chrome,
cv313,
Hashim,
Organ,
Intrusion,
Rapeman,
Matthew Bourne,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Aswad,
Talk Talk,
A Certain Ratio,
Minor Threat,
The Zeros,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Henry Cow, Henry Cow, Henry Cow, Henry Cow.
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.