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 Cape Verde and from Sao Paulo.
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 1967 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school London 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the arpeggiator 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 Sexual Harrassment to the rap kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Sun City Girls. All the underground hits.
All The Men They Couldn't Hang tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Fifty Foot Hose record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 sitar and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Al Stewart record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Monks,
James White and The Blacks,
The Index,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Boogie Down Productions,
Zapp,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Sex Pistols,
Yaz,
Don Cherry,
Television,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Slick Rick,
Robert Wyatt,
Alphaville,
Faraquet,
R.M.O.,
Main Source,
Popol Vuh,
Lightning Bolt,
The Remains,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Idris Muhammad,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
K-Klass,
Public Enemy,
Scion,
Blancmange,
the Slits,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Rhythm & Sound,
June of 44,
Dennis Brown,
The Wake,
The Selecter,
Beasts of Bourbon,
The Blues Magoos,
The Beau Brummels,
Grauzone,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Harmonia,
Sound Behaviour,
Unrelated Segments,
Michelle Simonal,
The Pop Group,
Sonic Youth,
Drive Like Jehu,
Guru Guru,
KRS-One,
Subhumans,
Donny Hathaway,
Sällskapet,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
The Sonics,
Aswad,
The Names,
Eden Ahbez,
Spoonie Gee,
Marshall Jefferson,
The Fuzztones,
The Flesh Eaters,
Goldenarms,
Infiniti, Infiniti, Infiniti, Infiniti.
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.