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 Mauritius and from Madrid.
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 1966 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Seoul.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Edmonton 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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the oboe 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 Sisters of Mercy to the disco kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Newcleus. All the underground hits.
All Ash Ra Tempel tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Howard Jones record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pussy Galore record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Flesh Eaters,
K-Klass,
New Order,
The Young Rascals,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
The Detroit Cobras,
Ultra Naté,
Rufus Thomas,
Country Teasers,
Barrington Levy,
L. Decosne,
Traffic Nightmare,
The Fugs,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Scratch Acid,
The Fall,
Depeche Mode,
La Düsseldorf,
Electric Prunes,
Make Up,
Lower 48,
Reuben Wilson,
The Angels of Light,
Flipper,
Marvin Gaye,
Maurizio,
Q and Not U,
Piero Umiliani,
Silicon Teens,
Spandau Ballet,
Jandek,
The Index,
Bang On A Can,
The Smoke,
Nico,
Bush Tetras,
Bluetip,
The Moody Blues,
The Raincoats,
Metal Thangz,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
The Gories,
The Wake,
Sixth Finger,
Ultravox,
Iggy Pop,
Scan 7,
Warren Ellis,
Soul Sonic Force,
Pharoah Sanders,
World's Most,
Symarip,
Masters at Work,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
The Slits,
Susan Cadogan,
Yaz,
Stockholm Monsters,
Schoolly D,
Lou Christie,
Icehouse,
Gong, Gong, Gong, Gong.
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.