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 Singapore and from Lyon.
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 1966 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Toronto.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the mellotron 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 Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra to the electroclash 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 Roger Hodgson. All the underground hits.
All Laurel Aitken tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Marmalade record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Fort Wilson Riot record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Howard Jones,
Warsaw,
Sexual Harrassment,
Dark Day,
Rod Modell,
Traffic Nightmare,
The Seeds,
Procol Harum,
Hoover,
Barclay James Harvest,
Joe Smooth,
Prince Buster,
Make Up,
Anthony Braxton,
Eli Mardock,
the Association,
The American Breed,
Harpers Bizarre,
Mission of Burma,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Thompson Twins,
Eric B and Rakim,
Gang of Four,
Mad Mike,
Amazonics,
Tommy Roe,
Derrick May,
Barrington Levy,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
The Trojans,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Neu!,
Theoretical Girls,
The Saints,
PIL,
Magma,
The Last Poets,
Yellowson,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Infiniti,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Sparks,
Grandmaster Flash,
This Heat,
Arab on Radar,
Nick Fraelich,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
48th St. Collective,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Donny Hathaway,
Brick,
Roger Hodgson,
Michelle Simonal,
Black Bananas,
The Grass Roots,
Lee Hazlewood,
Barry Ungar,
Sällskapet,
The Vogues,
Harmonia,
Davy DMX,
H. Thieme,
Hasil Adkins, Hasil Adkins, Hasil Adkins, Hasil Adkins.
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.