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 Afghanistan and from Lyon.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Seoul and Calgary.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 chamberlin 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 Last Poets to the punk kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Sonic Youth. All the underground hits.
All Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every X-Ray Spex record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Fugs record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Moebius,
Talk Talk,
Moss Icon,
Gerry Rafferty,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Matthew Bourne,
Sixth Finger,
The Misunderstood,
The Knickerbockers,
Loose Ends,
The Moody Blues,
Scientists,
The Beau Brummels,
Ronnie Foster,
Fluxion,
Pharoah Sanders,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
The American Breed,
Iggy Pop,
Wings,
Pere Ubu,
Excepter,
Public Enemy,
The Velvet Underground,
The Music Machine,
X-101,
Neu!,
Nik Kershaw,
Livin' Joy,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Peter & Gordon,
The Divine Comedy,
The Slits,
Bobby Sherman,
Black Pus,
Rufus Thomas,
Nirvana,
Rakim,
Brass Construction,
Interpol,
Swans,
The Fire Engines,
Funkadelic,
Grey Daturas,
Barclay James Harvest,
Roxette,
Funky Four + One,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Joyce Sims,
The Walker Brothers,
Harpers Bizarre,
Leonard Cohen,
Banda Bassotti,
Jawbox,
Davy DMX,
The Zeros,
Stetsasonic,
Barbara Tucker,
Kerrie Biddell,
Crispian St. Peters, Crispian St. Peters, Crispian St. Peters, Crispian St. Peters.
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.