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 Bulgaria and from Edmonton.
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 1965 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Manila.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 harpsichord 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 New York Dolls to the rap kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 The Five Americans. All the underground hits.
All Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Crispian St. Peters record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock 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 a harpsichord and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Strawberry Alarm Clock record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Heaven 17,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Bronski Beat,
Kevin Saunderson,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
The Pretty Things,
Charles Mingus,
Faraquet,
Warren Ellis,
Sun City Girls,
Jeff Lynne,
Roxette,
Youth Brigade,
Jeru the Damaja,
Andrew Hill,
Brass Construction,
June Days,
Nico,
Electric Prunes,
Fat Boys,
China Crisis,
The Golliwogs,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Matthew Bourne,
Mark Hollis,
Scratch Acid,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Tommy Roe,
Sight & Sound,
Warsaw,
Country Teasers,
Au Pairs,
Henry Cow,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
The Fortunes,
Dennis Brown,
Soul II Soul,
Chris & Cosey,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Sällskapet,
Isaac Hayes,
Spandau Ballet,
Yellowson,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Procol Harum,
Cameo,
The Selecter,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Sarah Menescal,
John Holt,
10cc,
The Fugs,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Bobby Byrd,
Cheater Slicks,
Stockholm Monsters,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Von Mondo,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Motorama,
the Normal,
Jawbox, Jawbox, Jawbox, Jawbox.
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.