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 Palau and from Toronto.
But I was there.
I was there in 1962.
I was there at the first Guess Who show in Winnipeg.
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 1965 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and Winnipeg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 oboe 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 Rites of Spring to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Divine Comedy. All the underground hits.
All Matthew Halsall tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Faust 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying a snare and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Camouflage record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Parry Music,
F. McDonald,
Boz Scaggs,
Derrick May,
Scientists,
The Saints,
Sex Pistols,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Swans,
Tom Boy,
Joensuu 1685,
The Searchers,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Icehouse,
World's Most,
Traffic Nightmare,
Heaven 17,
John Coltrane,
the Sonics,
John Lydon,
Saccharine Trust,
X-101,
Todd Terry,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Public Image Ltd.,
The Toasters,
Negative Approach,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Ludus,
Byron Stingily,
X-Ray Spex,
The Durutti Column,
Godley & Creme,
Mad Mike,
The Alarm Clocks,
Main Source,
Dorothy Ashby,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Angry Samoans,
The Dirtbombs,
The Grass Roots,
a-ha,
Trumans Water,
Delta 5,
Depeche Mode,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Terrestrial Tones,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Ohio Players,
Black Flag,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Glambeats Corp.,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Arthur Verocai,
Susan Cadogan,
June of 44,
Rod Modell,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Nils Olav,
Johnny Osbourne,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
London Community Gospel Choir,
The Flesh Eaters,
Stetsasonic, Stetsasonic, Stetsasonic, Stetsasonic.
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.