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 Serbia and from Winnipeg.
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 1964 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bremen 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 1978 at the first Visage practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Desert Stars to the grunge 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 Jeff Lynne. All the underground hits.
All The Royal Family And The Poor tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Grey Daturas record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz 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 a güiro and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sonny Sharrock record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
T. Rex,
F. McDonald,
Jeru the Damaja,
ABC,
Gerry Rafferty,
The Vogues,
Aloha Tigers,
David Bowie,
Throbbing Gristle,
Cluster,
Subhumans,
The Fuzztones,
Icehouse,
The Remains,
Ralphi Rosario,
Black Sheep,
Adolescents,
Soft Cell,
Derrick May,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Lou Reed,
Byron Stingily,
The Misunderstood,
Deakin,
Ornette Coleman,
Boredoms,
The Evens,
Newcleus,
Spandau Ballet,
Ossler,
Traffic Nightmare,
La Düsseldorf,
Alphaville,
Lower 48,
Basic Channel,
The Kinks,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Nik Kershaw,
KRS-One,
Alton Ellis,
The Tremeloes,
Amon Düül II,
The Trojans,
Sound Behaviour,
Oneida,
Davy DMX,
Albert Ayler,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Pantaleimon,
The Seeds,
Ultravox,
The Sonics,
Bush Tetras,
Pharoah Sanders,
The Star Department,
Moebius,
Desert Stars,
The Happenings,
The Gap Band,
Rosa Yemen,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Can,
The Dirtbombs, The Dirtbombs, The Dirtbombs, The Dirtbombs.
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.