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 Denmark and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television 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 1969 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Edmonton and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bremen 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 David Bowie 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 Nick Fraelich to the grime kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Notorious Big And Bone Thugs. All the underground hits.
All Mary Jane Girls tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Lucky Dragons 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Donald Byrd record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet 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?
Talk Talk,
Bobby Sherman,
Moebius,
Kaleidoscope,
Joey Negro,
Peter & Gordon,
Chris Corsano,
the Swans,
Gerry Rafferty,
Josef K,
T. Rex,
The Sonics,
Joe Smooth,
Cameo,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
New Order,
Jawbox,
Main Source,
Marvin Gaye,
Desert Stars,
Nick Fraelich,
Soul II Soul,
Brick,
The Fugs,
The Gun Club,
Gang Starr,
The Mojo Men,
Bob Dylan,
Circle Jerks,
Moby Grape,
Procol Harum,
Depeche Mode,
Thee Headcoats,
Scratch Acid,
Khruangbin,
Tears for Fears,
Mr. Review,
Pharoah Sanders,
Thompson Twins,
Jacques Brel,
Television,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Unwound,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Nico,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Technova,
H. Thieme,
Lyres,
Faust,
Skriet,
Essential Logic,
The Seeds,
The Martian,
The Alarm Clocks,
The Grass Roots,
Babytalk,
Newcleus,
the Association,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Kevin Saunderson,
Monks, Monks, Monks, Monks.
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.