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 Marshall Islands and from Manchester.
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 1967 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Portland.
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 1983 at the first Bronski Beat practice in a loft in Brixton.
I was working on the clarinet 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 Kings Of Tomorrow to the techno kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Blancmange. All the underground hits.
All Ultravox tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Khruangbin 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gong record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Terry Callier,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
These Immortal Souls,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Harmonia,
The Martian,
The Selecter,
Banda Bassotti,
Gil Scott Heron,
Byron Stingily,
Maurizio,
John Foxx,
Sällskapet,
Cybotron,
Tears for Fears,
Idris Muhammad,
Arab on Radar,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Pere Ubu,
Scion,
Drive Like Jehu,
Absolute Body Control,
Lou Reed,
The Move,
Deakin,
Dawn Penn,
Rod Modell,
The Associates,
Dead Boys,
The Sonics,
The Evens,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Spandau Ballet,
The Pretty Things,
Amon Düül II,
The American Breed,
Nils Olav,
Grey Daturas,
Radio Birdman,
Black Bananas,
Black Pus,
Aloha Tigers,
The Happenings,
Rosa Yemen,
Magma,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Jeff Mills,
Theoretical Girls,
Skriet,
The Motions,
Joy Division,
Pantaleimon,
Fat Boys,
Thee Headcoats,
Japan,
Bauhaus,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Wally Richardson,
Depeche Mode,
The Toasters,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Gerry Rafferty,
Moss Icon,
The Standells,
DJ Style, DJ Style, DJ Style, DJ Style.
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.