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 Bhutan and from Woodstock.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Zapp show in Hamilton.
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 1965 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Spokane and Milan.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tokyo 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 sitar 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 The Searchers to the punk kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Godley & Creme. All the underground hits.
All Spoonie Gee tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Be Bop Deluxe record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Morten Harket,
Mad Mike,
Nirvana,
Scion,
Curtis Mayfield,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Jacques Brel,
The Fuzztones,
Outsiders,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Desert Stars,
The Monochrome Set,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Q65,
Skriet,
Alice Coltrane,
The Gun Club,
The Remains,
Godley & Creme,
Can,
Frankie Knuckles,
Sam Rivers,
Tom Boy,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Supertramp,
Pantytec,
Accadde A,
The Misunderstood,
Boz Scaggs,
Bush Tetras,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Moby Grape,
Lee Hazlewood,
Joe Smooth,
Joe Finger,
Robert Hood,
Bluetip,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Quadrant,
Marmalade,
The Toasters,
Cybotron,
The Grass Roots,
Peter and Kerry,
Pulsallama,
Bobby Byrd,
Leonard Cohen,
Rotary Connection,
Angry Samoans,
Funkadelic,
Ossler,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
the Association,
Surgeon,
Prince Buster,
John Coltrane,
Mr. Review,
Slave,
Eurythmics,
Reuben Wilson,
Minutemen,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Tomorrow, Tomorrow, Tomorrow, Tomorrow.
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.