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 Bosnia Herzegovina and from Columbus.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Neu! show in Düsseldorf.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Milan and Calgary.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Roxy Music to the grunge kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Camron Feat. Jay Z And Juelz. All the underground hits.
All Prince Buster tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Theoretical Girls record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a FM Einheit record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Grauzone,
The Raincoats,
Howard Jones,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
The Vogues,
Half Japanese,
Frankie Knuckles,
Gang of Four,
Goldenarms,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Rotary Connection,
The Doobie Brothers,
Yazoo,
Minny Pops,
Alphaville,
R.M.O.,
Bad Manners,
the Germs,
Black Moon,
The Smiths,
Parry Music,
Judy Mowatt,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Andrew Hill,
Henry Cow,
The Leaves,
Bobby Womack,
JFA,
The Dead C,
The Moleskins,
the Bar-Kays,
The Skatalites,
Cybotron,
Jacques Brel,
Black Bananas,
Mars,
Hoover,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Bobby Hutcherson,
The Doors,
Fela Kuti,
Ossler,
The American Breed,
Interpol,
The Last Poets,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Eric B and Rakim,
Y Pants,
the Association,
Donny Hathaway,
Traffic Nightmare,
Avey Tare,
Unwound,
Supertramp,
OOIOO,
Byron Stingily,
Barclay James Harvest,
Monks, Monks, Monks, Monks.
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.