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 Colombia and from Lagos.
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 1960 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tokyo and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 1967 at the first Rodriguez practice in a loft in Detroit.
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 The Walker Brothers to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Monolake. All the underground hits.
All Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Sisters of Mercy 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Neon Judgement record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
The Leaves,
The Mojo Men,
Anakelly,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Marine Girls,
Fela Kuti,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Brass Construction,
The Moody Blues,
The Birthday Party,
One Last Wish,
The Durutti Column,
The Sisters of Mercy,
The Detroit Cobras,
Mandrill,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
The Flesh Eaters,
Kas Product,
These Immortal Souls,
Ituana,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Infiniti,
The Slits,
Thee Headcoats,
Second Layer,
Loose Ends,
Spoonie Gee,
Dennis Brown,
Steve Hackett,
Bobby Womack,
Magazine,
Motorama,
The New Christs,
David McCallum,
The Techniques,
The Tremeloes,
Slick Rick,
The Raincoats,
This Heat,
Grauzone,
Pantytec,
Accadde A,
Kenny Larkin,
Tomorrow,
Tropical Tobacco,
Agent Orange,
Chris & Cosey,
Scan 7,
The Motions,
Zapp,
Kayak,
A Certain Ratio,
Eli Mardock,
Essential Logic,
Babytalk,
Cheater Slicks,
Blossom Toes,
Rakim,
Deakin,
Joe Smooth,
Angry Samoans, Angry Samoans, Angry Samoans, Angry Samoans.
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.