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 Kyrgyzstan and from Johannesburg.
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 1966 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Roxette to the rock 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 Neu!. All the underground hits.
All The Dead C tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sad Lovers and Giants 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Cramps record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Grandmaster Flash,
Brass Construction,
Monks,
K-Klass,
Rapeman,
Andrew Hill,
Scientists,
Siglo XX,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Ultravox,
Byron Stingily,
Saccharine Trust,
Model 500,
Ten City,
The New Christs,
Minnie Riperton,
Robert Wyatt,
Morten Harket,
Marc Almond,
Stetsasonic,
Rekid,
Quantec,
Country Teasers,
The Searchers,
Bill Wells,
Sandy B,
Pharoah Sanders,
Pantytec,
Crispy Ambulance,
Roy Ayers,
Ice-T,
Rufus Thomas,
Bang On A Can,
The Techniques,
Pulsallama,
Boredoms,
Bobby Byrd,
DNA,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Electric Prunes,
Fad Gadget,
Johnny Osbourne,
The Gories,
Mark Hollis,
The Toasters,
Jawbox,
Little Man,
Mo-Dettes,
Tomorrow,
Magazine,
Susan Cadogan,
Organ,
The Remains,
Terrestrial Tones,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Nils Olav,
Essential Logic,
The Sisters of Mercy,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
The Cramps, The Cramps, The Cramps, The Cramps.
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.