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 Uzbekistan and from Bologna.
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 1965 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Lagos.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school London 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 1979 at the first Josef K practice in a loft in Edinburgh.
I was working on the guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Inner City to the rap kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Camouflage. All the underground hits.
All Simply Red tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Funky Four + One record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz 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 chamberlin and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Accadde A record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Amazonics,
Tropical Tobacco,
T. Rex,
Ultra Naté,
Curtis Mayfield,
Sarah Menescal,
Sonny Sharrock,
Danielle Patucci,
Cybotron,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Joyce Sims,
The Tremeloes,
Albert Ayler,
The Walker Brothers,
Bobby Sherman,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Stockholm Monsters,
Black Moon,
Arthur Verocai,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Jawbox,
The Gories,
The Cure,
Saccharine Trust,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Eyeless In Gaza,
The American Breed,
Ultravox,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
the Germs,
Sparks,
AZ,
Radiohead,
Sun Ra,
The Offenders,
Icehouse,
Pagans,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Cabaret Voltaire,
The Stooges,
Bobby Byrd,
Grey Daturas,
the Human League,
Howard Jones,
Nico,
Pole,
Terrestrial Tones,
Skaos,
Ten City,
Chris Corsano,
Nik Kershaw,
Ronnie Foster,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Severed Heads,
Bluetip,
Scientists,
Sister Nancy,
Matthew Bourne,
Hardrive,
The Kinks,
Barry Ungar,
Mr. Review,
Skriet, Skriet, Skriet, Skriet.
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.