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 Jamaica and from Edmonton.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1964 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Manchester.
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 synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Move to the techno kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Audionom. All the underground hits.
All Wolf Eyes tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Frankie Knuckles 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Slick Rick record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bauhaus,
Sparks,
Robert Görl,
Colin Newman,
UT,
Dead Boys,
Cameo,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Television Personalities,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Eddi Front,
The Last Poets,
The Red Krayola,
Isaac Hayes,
Stockholm Monsters,
Charles Mingus,
Robert Wyatt,
Deadbeat,
June Days,
The Grass Roots,
Aswad,
Donny Hathaway,
Oneida,
Subhumans,
Black Bananas,
Procol Harum,
Dorothy Ashby,
Andrew Hill,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Main Source,
Kevin Saunderson,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
the Swans,
the Fania All-Stars,
The Victims,
Infiniti,
John Lydon,
Harry Pussy,
Das Ding,
James White and The Blacks,
Buzzcocks,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Ohio Players,
Al Stewart,
The Beau Brummels,
Crispy Ambulance,
Bobby Byrd,
Reagan Youth,
The Busters,
Johnny Osbourne,
Electric Light Orchestra,
The Cramps,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Barclay James Harvest,
Eric B and Rakim,
Khruangbin,
Cabaret Voltaire,
James Chance & The Contortions,
The Moleskins,
Talk Talk,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Pussy Galore, Pussy Galore, Pussy Galore, Pussy Galore.
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.