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 Mauritius and from Cairo.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide show in New York.
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 1961 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lyon 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 linndrum 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 Niagra to the grunge kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Girls At Our Best!. All the underground hits.
All Sandy B tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Morten Harket record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge 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 chamberlin and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a 8 Eyed Spy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Deakin,
Angry Samoans,
F. McDonald,
Joey Negro,
The Motions,
Connie Case,
Fifty Foot Hose,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Fear,
the Fania All-Stars,
Make Up,
The Alarm Clocks,
Joensuu 1685,
Bobby Sherman,
Essential Logic,
Faraquet,
Depeche Mode,
Surgeon,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Barry Ungar,
U.S. Maple,
cv313,
The Real Kids,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Brass Construction,
Aaron Thompson,
Leonard Cohen,
Avey Tare,
Ornette Coleman,
Barclay James Harvest,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Freddie Wadling,
The Kinks,
Nico,
10cc,
Reagan Youth,
Kerri Chandler,
Procol Harum,
Intrusion,
Faust,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Thee Headcoats,
Inner City,
The Moody Blues,
R.M.O.,
Monolake,
Gerry Rafferty,
The Mummies,
The Slackers,
The Last Poets,
Lindisfarne,
London Community Gospel Choir,
OOIOO,
The Detroit Cobras,
Grandmaster Flash,
Clear Light,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Sparks,
Motorama,
a-ha,
Pet Shop Boys,
Strawberry Alarm Clock, Strawberry Alarm Clock, Strawberry Alarm Clock, Strawberry Alarm Clock.
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.