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 Angola and from Lille.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle show in London.
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 1964 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Portland.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Standells to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Archie Shepp. All the underground hits.
All Skaos tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Jesper Dahlback 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Mad Mike,
Suburban Knight,
Kerrie Biddell,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Wasted Youth,
Pylon,
Eden Ahbez,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Sexual Harrassment,
ABC,
Brand Nubian,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Grauzone,
The Cosmic Jokers,
B.T. Express,
EPMD,
Tropical Tobacco,
Janne Schatter,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Big Daddy Kane,
Fugazi,
Thompson Twins,
Technova,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
10cc,
Eurythmics,
Al Stewart,
John Holt,
The Monks,
The Birthday Party,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
KRS-One,
The Evens,
Charles Mingus,
The Offenders,
Joey Negro,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Grandmaster Flash,
Theoretical Girls,
Cal Tjader,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Fear,
LL Cool J,
The Buckinghams,
Slave,
Dual Sessions,
David Axelrod,
Glenn Branca,
David Bowie,
Alton Ellis,
Simply Red,
Moby Grape,
Gerry Rafferty,
the Fania All-Stars,
The Kinks,
The Gories,
Jacob Miller,
The Selecter,
Colin Newman,
Crispy Ambulance, Crispy Ambulance, Crispy Ambulance, Crispy Ambulance.
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.