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 San Marino and from Mumbai.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lyon 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 sitar 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 Electric Prunes to the rock 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 The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band. All the underground hits.
All Quadrant tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The American Breed record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime 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 mellotron and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Inner City record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Gerry Rafferty,
Cluster,
Harry Pussy,
Ice-T,
Simply Red,
Fluxion,
Traffic Nightmare,
Althea and Donna,
D'Angelo,
Magazine,
Roxette,
These Immortal Souls,
Robert Hood,
Cheater Slicks,
The Victims,
Lalo Schifrin,
Clear Light,
the Swans,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
The Tremeloes,
The Neon Judgement,
Rakim,
The Pretty Things,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Crooked Eye,
Mo-Dettes,
Avey Tare,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Pylon,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Mandrill,
The Index,
Marshall Jefferson,
The Beau Brummels,
Crime,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
John Lydon,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Moebius,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Barrington Levy,
Radiohead,
48th St. Collective,
Rites of Spring,
Das Ding,
Alton Ellis,
Gil Scott Heron,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
The Blues Magoos,
June Days,
MC5,
Bobby Womack,
Dennis Brown,
The Smiths,
Ultimate Spinach,
Marine Girls,
The Young Rascals,
Schoolly D,
Iggy Pop,
Robert Görl,
Monolake,
Tomorrow,
Mary Jane Girls,
Black Pus,
E-Dancer, E-Dancer, E-Dancer, E-Dancer.
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.