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 Austria and from Accra.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Winnipeg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Surgeon to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Inner City. All the underground hits.
All Warren Ellis tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sexual Harrassment 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The American Breed record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Hot Snakes,
Aswad,
Buzzcocks,
Boz Scaggs,
Gabor Szabo,
These Immortal Souls,
DNA,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Magma,
Talk Talk,
Grey Daturas,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Visage,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
World's Most,
Piero Umiliani,
Ten City,
Terrestrial Tones,
Roy Ayers,
Ultravox,
Flipper,
Michelle Simonal,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
The Buckinghams,
Gang Starr,
Soul II Soul,
The Sound,
Curtis Mayfield,
The Walker Brothers,
Nico,
Sex Pistols,
The New Christs,
Fad Gadget,
Severed Heads,
Barclay James Harvest,
Theoretical Girls,
Thompson Twins,
The Offenders,
Black Bananas,
Roxette,
Minnie Riperton,
The Moody Blues,
Dead Boys,
Second Layer,
Carl Craig,
Drexciya,
Sister Nancy,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
The Divine Comedy,
Malaria!,
Slick Rick,
Kerri Chandler,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Amon Düül II,
Bronski Beat,
The Wake,
This Heat,
Urselle,
Derrick Morgan,
Freddie Wadling,
Supertramp,
Mission of Burma,
Terry Callier, Terry Callier, Terry Callier, Terry Callier.
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.