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 St Lucia and from Taipei.
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 1963 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 1971 at the first Big Star practice in a loft in Memphis.
I was working on the arpeggiator 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 Electric Light Orchestra to the punk 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 Negative Approach. All the underground hits.
All Rapeman tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Crispy Ambulance 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Human League record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sunsets and Hearts,
Buzzcocks,
Deepchord,
The Trojans,
Rekid,
Andrew Hill,
Soft Machine,
Harpers Bizarre,
Inner City,
Dave Gahan,
Pierre Henry,
The Toasters,
Ornette Coleman,
Howard Jones,
Throbbing Gristle,
X-Ray Spex,
Sight & Sound,
Barrington Levy,
Man Eating Sloth,
Be Bop Deluxe,
The Blackbyrds,
Erasure,
Half Japanese,
Soulsonic Force,
Funkadelic,
Sex Pistols,
Black Sheep,
Y Pants,
Porter Ricks,
John Holt,
Subhumans,
Sarah Menescal,
The Martian,
Terry Callier,
Scientists,
The Kinks,
Moss Icon,
Das Ding,
Lalo Schifrin,
Fluxion,
Eden Ahbez,
The Offenders,
Tommy Roe,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Sexual Harrassment,
Sixth Finger,
The Divine Comedy,
Ken Boothe,
Kool Moe Dee,
The Standells,
Monks,
Roxy Music,
Girls At Our Best!,
Arcadia,
The Neon Judgement,
Arthur Verocai,
Gang of Four,
Derrick May,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Pulsallama,
The Wake, The Wake, The Wake, The Wake.
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.