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 Somalia and from Shanghai.
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 1968 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 guitar 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 Absolute Body Control to the electroclash kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Mandrill. All the underground hits.
All T. Rex tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Hot Snakes record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a UT record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Spoonie Gee,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
The Selecter,
Harry Pussy,
Khruangbin,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Parry Music,
The Dirtbombs,
Dorothy Ashby,
Yaz,
Janne Schatter,
Howard Jones,
Suburban Knight,
James White and The Blacks,
Wolf Eyes,
Scrapy,
Scientists,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
AZ,
Matthew Bourne,
a-ha,
China Crisis,
A Certain Ratio,
Suicide,
The Last Poets,
Todd Rundgren,
Urselle,
Erasure,
Moby Grape,
Lalo Schifrin,
Erykah Badu,
Spandau Ballet,
Buzzcocks,
Radio Birdman,
Talk Talk,
Smog,
Skarface,
Davy DMX,
Ultimate Spinach,
Tears for Fears,
Mission of Burma,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Josef K,
Man Parrish,
Gong,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Lebanon Hanover,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Pussy Galore,
Ultra Naté,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Robert Hood,
Yusef Lateef,
Judy Mowatt,
Jeff Mills,
The Zeros,
Grandmaster Flash,
Pantytec,
The Pop Group,
Pere Ubu,
Aswad,
Susan Cadogan,
Fad Gadget,
Unwound, Unwound, Unwound, Unwound.
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.