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 Switzerland 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 1964 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Chris & Cosey to the jazz 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 N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell. All the underground hits.
All Boz Scaggs tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Con Funk Shun record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 an oboe and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a London Community Gospel Choir record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Rakim,
Crispian St. Peters,
Silicon Teens,
Qualms,
Wings,
T. Rex,
Crispy Ambulance,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Maurizio,
Danielle Patucci,
Faraquet,
the Sonics,
8 Eyed Spy,
The Vogues,
The Tremeloes,
The Index,
Quantec,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Electric Prunes,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Quadrant,
Royal Trux,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Ken Boothe,
Excepter,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Schoolly D,
Pere Ubu,
Cybotron,
Jimmy McGriff,
The Fire Engines,
The Remains,
Girls At Our Best!,
The Moody Blues,
Donald Byrd,
Cluster,
Lyres,
Hasil Adkins,
Jesper Dahlback,
Dawn Penn,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Angry Samoans,
The Young Rascals,
The Beau Brummels,
Tomorrow,
Aloha Tigers,
Henry Cow,
Eddi Front,
48th St. Collective,
PIL,
The Walker Brothers,
John Foxx,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Bauhaus,
Intrusion,
Mo-Dettes,
Pharoah Sanders,
John Coltrane,
Rapeman,
The Misunderstood, The Misunderstood, The Misunderstood, The Misunderstood.
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.