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 Mongolia and from Woodstock.
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 1968 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Calgary 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 1971 at the first Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the chamberlin 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 Mission of Burma to the grime kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Neil Young. All the underground hits.
All The Stooges tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Dirtbombs 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 a clarinet and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mr. Review record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Wings,
Sugar Minott,
Shoche,
Dawn Penn,
Hoover,
John Holt,
Crooked Eye,
New Order,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Iggy Pop,
E-Dancer,
David McCallum,
The Evens,
Minny Pops,
Eddi Front,
Eve St. Jones,
Jeff Mills,
Bobby Womack,
The Barracudas,
Khruangbin,
These Immortal Souls,
the Human League,
Ash Ra Tempel,
The Smiths,
Dave Gahan,
Rapeman,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Monolake,
Symarip,
Dead Boys,
The Searchers,
Country Teasers,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Basic Channel,
Susan Cadogan,
Robert Görl,
Ludus,
Malaria!,
Marc Almond,
The Pretty Things,
Agent Orange,
Ronnie Foster,
The Trojans,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Byron Stingily,
Alphaville,
Sex Pistols,
Kurtis Blow,
Parry Music,
The Names,
Tropical Tobacco,
Rakim,
Black Moon,
Joey Negro,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Bill Near,
Siglo XX,
Quando Quango,
Bobby Byrd,
Todd Terry,
the Soft Cell,
Severed Heads, Severed Heads, Severed Heads, Severed Heads.
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.