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 Costa Rica and from Shanghai.
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 1960 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Halifax 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Hasil Adkins to the grunge 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 The Sisters of Mercy. All the underground hits.
All The Selecter tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Men They Couldn't Hang record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno 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 harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Nils Olav record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Moby Grape,
Royal Trux,
Nation of Ulysses,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
The Slits,
Brick,
Boz Scaggs,
Cluster,
KRS-One,
The Mummies,
Sällskapet,
Joensuu 1685,
Ossler,
Rekid,
Boogie Down Productions,
Barbara Tucker,
Scratch Acid,
David Bowie,
Soul II Soul,
Kaleidoscope,
Bad Manners,
Boredoms,
In Retrospect,
Sugar Minott,
Angry Samoans,
Tropical Tobacco,
Siglo XX,
Joyce Sims,
MDC,
Cecil Taylor,
Tubeway Army,
The Buckinghams,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Minny Pops,
Pylon,
Wings,
Guru Guru,
JFA,
The Dirtbombs,
Sexual Harrassment,
Fugazi,
Inner City,
Bill Near,
X-101,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
La Düsseldorf,
Shuggie Otis,
Pulsallama,
The Invisible,
Black Pus,
Soulsonic Force,
Kool Moe Dee,
Albert Ayler,
Derrick Morgan,
The Birthday Party,
Ultra Naté,
Bluetip,
Man Eating Sloth,
The Fuzztones,
Grey Daturas, Grey Daturas, Grey Daturas, Grey Daturas.
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.