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 Bosnia Herzegovina and from Philadelphia.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Feelies show in Haledon.
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 1960 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 The Peanut Butter Conspiracy to the rap kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Index. All the underground hits.
All Art Ensemble Of Chicago tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Soul Sonic Force record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge 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 spring reverb and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Television record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
T. Rex,
The Kinks,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Boredoms,
John Coltrane,
Gabor Szabo,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Black Bananas,
The Velvet Underground,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Skaos,
CMW,
EPMD,
The Black Dice,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
David Axelrod,
Camouflage,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
The Buckinghams,
Crooked Eye,
Mandrill,
PIL,
Yellowson,
Au Pairs,
Chrome,
Desert Stars,
Niagra,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Bill Wells,
Amon Düül,
Robert Wyatt,
Barbara Tucker,
Second Layer,
Vainqueur,
Gang of Four,
Skarface,
Thee Headcoats,
Stiv Bators,
Harmonia,
Pagans,
The Slackers,
Althea and Donna,
Fifty Foot Hose,
John Cale,
Peter & Gordon,
Sexual Harrassment,
Alphaville,
Ultravox,
The Fuzztones,
Kurtis Blow,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Gang Green,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
The Pretty Things,
Flash Fearless,
the Fania All-Stars,
The Cramps,
Angry Samoans,
Depeche Mode,
Motorama,
Khruangbin, Khruangbin, Khruangbin, Khruangbin.
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.