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 Tuvalu and from Accra.
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 1962 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Salvador.
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 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 The J.B.'s to the techno kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Donald Byrd. All the underground hits.
All Richard Hell and the Voidoids tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Marcia Griffiths 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a snare 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 synthesizer and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
ABC,
The Red Krayola,
The Gladiators,
Roxy Music,
Pussy Galore,
Agitation Free,
Radio Birdman,
Black Bananas,
Nico,
Nick Fraelich,
Alison Limerick,
Skarface,
Joe Finger,
The Cramps,
Jacob Miller,
Sexual Harrassment,
Deepchord,
Traffic Nightmare,
48th St. Collective,
Sparks,
Ludus,
Hoover,
Jandek,
Rites of Spring,
The New Christs,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Henry Cow,
Nils Olav,
Talk Talk,
Rekid,
A Flock of Seagulls,
The Knickerbockers,
Ornette Coleman,
Anakelly,
D'Angelo,
Cheater Slicks,
Malaria!,
Peter & Gordon,
Bill Wells,
Brick,
The Blues Magoos,
New York Dolls,
Zero Boys,
Ronnie Foster,
Susan Cadogan,
Country Teasers,
Junior Murvin,
Derrick May,
Lungfish,
The Happenings,
Trumans Water,
Excepter,
The Cosmic Jokers,
The Real Kids,
Maurizio,
Pulsallama,
Soft Machine,
Saccharine Trust,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Supertramp,
Gong,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
The Mummies, The Mummies, The Mummies, The Mummies.
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.