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 New Zealand and from Stockholm.
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 1961 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Salvador.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 1983 at the first Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Wings to the electroclash 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 The Cowsills. All the underground hits.
All Sugar Minott tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bill Wells 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Ajijia Myrayebe record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Last Poets,
Duran Duran,
Scrapy,
Ronnie Foster,
Bush Tetras,
Lalo Schifrin,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Q65,
Q and Not U,
Scientists,
The Human League,
Nas,
Rhythm & Sound,
Erasure,
Bobby Byrd,
Graham Central Station,
The Sound,
Bill Wells,
The Zeros,
Dawn Penn,
The Count Five,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Wasted Youth,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Lou Reed,
Gang Green,
Lalann,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Fad Gadget,
Eric B and Rakim,
Oblivians,
Arthur Verocai,
Idris Muhammad,
Crispy Ambulance,
Robert Wyatt,
Main Source,
Arcadia,
The Sonics,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Heaven 17,
June of 44,
Motorama,
Cameo,
D'Angelo,
Roxette,
Flamin' Groovies,
Leonard Cohen,
Delon & Dalcan,
John Cale,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Dark Day,
Fluxion,
Barrington Levy,
The Electric Prunes,
Grandmaster Flash,
Mark Hollis,
Gichy Dan,
The Doobie Brothers,
Adolescents,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Ultimate Spinach,
Simply Red, Simply Red, Simply Red, Simply Red.
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.