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 Qatar and from Sao Paulo.
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 1967 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 1971 at the first Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme to the rock 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 The Busters. All the underground hits.
All Barbara Tucker tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Cecil Taylor record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Residents record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Rapeman,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Steve Hackett,
Johnny Clarke,
Television Personalities,
The Black Dice,
Desert Stars,
Popol Vuh,
Smog,
James White and The Blacks,
Masters at Work,
Hoover,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Minnie Riperton,
The Five Americans,
Lower 48,
Joey Negro,
Khruangbin,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
the Germs,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Groovy Waters,
Mark Hollis,
The Smiths,
Magma,
James Chance & The Contortions,
H. Thieme,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Minutemen,
Cal Tjader,
Roy Ayers,
Nick Fraelich,
Dave Gahan,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Juan Atkins,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Terrestrial Tones,
Angry Samoans,
Fat Boys,
Unwound,
The Dave Clark Five,
Siglo XX,
The Human League,
UT,
The Angels of Light,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
The Beau Brummels,
Nico,
Slave,
Cecil Taylor,
Pierre Henry,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Kerri Chandler,
The Wake,
the Normal,
Lee Hazlewood,
Liliput,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Mission of Burma,
Gang of Four,
Jacques Brel,
The Residents, The Residents, The Residents, The Residents.
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.