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 Seychelles and from Madrid.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1969 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Spokane and Bremen.
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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Smog to the techno kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Black Sheep. All the underground hits.
All Ultimate Spinach tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every A Certain Ratio record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash 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 clarinet and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Bootsy Collins record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Boredoms,
DJ Sneak,
Grandmaster Flash,
X-101,
Radiopuhelimet,
Sällskapet,
Hot Snakes,
Morten Harket,
Jesper Dahlback,
The Dave Clark Five,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Popol Vuh,
Drive Like Jehu,
Icehouse,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Arthur Verocai,
The Last Poets,
Mandrill,
Los Fastidios,
Davy DMX,
Brand Nubian,
Scratch Acid,
Sandy B,
The Young Rascals,
The Victims,
Lalo Schifrin,
The Sound,
New Age Steppers,
John Cale,
L. Decosne,
Gastr Del Sol,
Severed Heads,
Sarah Menescal,
Flipper,
Cal Tjader,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Moby Grape,
The Alarm Clocks,
Eric Dolphy,
Moss Icon,
Half Japanese,
Tubeway Army,
Outsiders,
the Soft Cell,
Roxette,
John Holt,
Matthew Bourne,
Ronnie Foster,
Hasil Adkins,
The Misunderstood,
Man Parrish,
Darondo,
Big Daddy Kane,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
John Lydon,
Rekid,
Dual Sessions,
The Slackers, The Slackers, The Slackers, The Slackers.
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.