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 Spain and from Toronto.
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 1961 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 1962 at the first Guess Who practice in a loft in Winnipeg.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 Mad Mike to the rap 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 Fad Gadget. All the underground hits.
All Mission of Burma tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Young Marble Giants 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Terry Callier record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Fortunes,
Don Cherry,
Slave,
Pussy Galore,
Kayak,
ABBA,
Big Daddy Kane,
Visage,
New Age Steppers,
Eddi Front,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Nik Kershaw,
Hoover,
Glenn Branca,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Motorama,
A Certain Ratio,
Con Funk Shun,
Godley & Creme,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Roy Ayers,
Jeru the Damaja,
Procol Harum,
Rotary Connection,
Camouflage,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Buzzcocks,
Lindisfarne,
Sight & Sound,
Basic Channel,
Monks,
Cybotron,
The United States of America,
Brothers Johnson,
Negative Approach,
Rufus Thomas,
Stiv Bators,
Oneida,
Suburban Knight,
the Slits,
Sexual Harrassment,
Letta Mbulu,
Roger Hodgson,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Lakeside,
The Residents,
Byron Stingily,
Yaz,
Barry Ungar,
the Swans,
The Leaves,
Marc Almond,
Rhythm & Sound,
The Neon Judgement,
Henry Cow,
The Blues Magoos,
Radiopuhelimet,
Gichy Dan,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Aural Exciters, Aural Exciters, Aural Exciters, Aural Exciters.
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.