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 Malta and from Edmonton.
But I was there.
I was there in 1965.
I was there at the first Beefheart show in Lancaster.
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 1963 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Jakarta.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 oboe 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 Depeche Mode to the punk kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Duran Duran. All the underground hits.
All Massinfluence tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Fat Boys record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Lightning Bolt,
Crispy Ambulance,
Symarip,
Tropical Tobacco,
Susan Cadogan,
The Five Americans,
Motorama,
Joe Smooth,
Pylon,
Electric Prunes,
Das Ding,
Ultravox,
Deakin,
Rakim,
Sugar Minott,
The Dead C,
Pantaleimon,
Fluxion,
Bush Tetras,
The Busters,
Peter & Gordon,
Dawn Penn,
Sun City Girls,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Lakeside,
Man Parrish,
The Golliwogs,
Pere Ubu,
The Last Poets,
Ralphi Rosario,
James White and The Blacks,
Neil Young,
Fela Kuti,
Desert Stars,
Bizarre Inc.,
The Black Dice,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Rotary Connection,
Stetsasonic,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Warsaw,
Arthur Verocai,
Alison Limerick,
D'Angelo,
Marine Girls,
DJ Style,
The Modern Lovers,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Bootsy Collins,
Cecil Taylor,
Funkadelic,
It's A Beautiful Day,
The Cure,
Brass Construction,
Henry Cow,
Moebius,
Average White Band,
The Pretty Things,
Warren Ellis,
Todd Terry,
Section 25,
Patti Smith, Patti Smith, Patti Smith, Patti Smith.
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.