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 Netherlands and from Calgary.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic 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 1963 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Milan and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Lindisfarne to the rock kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Motorama. All the underground hits.
All N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Black Pus record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 Crispian St. Peters record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Wolf Eyes,
Von Mondo,
Mission of Burma,
Aloha Tigers,
Barry Ungar,
Kevin Saunderson,
Wire,
Jandek,
Hot Snakes,
Bootsy Collins,
Roxette,
Glambeats Corp.,
Metal Thangz,
The Residents,
Das Ding,
Whodini,
Qualms,
Essential Logic,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Alton Ellis,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
the Association,
Leonard Cohen,
Popol Vuh,
The Slits,
T. Rex,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Kenny Larkin,
Smog,
Andrew Hill,
Anthony Braxton,
The Human League,
Barrington Levy,
EPMD,
Traffic Nightmare,
Danielle Patucci,
Todd Rundgren,
the Human League,
Connie Case,
The Detroit Cobras,
The Fall,
Make Up,
Marcia Griffiths,
The Selecter,
Young Marble Giants,
Nik Kershaw,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Public Enemy,
The Fire Engines,
Flash Fearless,
The Martian,
Godley & Creme,
Brothers Johnson,
Delon & Dalcan,
Q and Not U,
T.S.O.L.,
Fear,
Iggy Pop,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Grauzone,
Marine Girls,
Junior Murvin, Junior Murvin, Junior Murvin, Junior Murvin.
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.