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 Lesotho 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 1964 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Toronto.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Crash Course in Science to the rap kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Mad Mike. All the underground hits.
All Ash Ra Tempel tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Outsiders 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Youth Brigade record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
David Bowie,
Bobby Womack,
Marshall Jefferson,
Todd Rundgren,
Faust,
Monolake,
Max Romeo,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Soft Cell,
Gastr Del Sol,
The Remains,
Q and Not U,
Lalann,
Franke,
Marc Almond,
Mantronix,
Sandy B,
Surgeon,
John Coltrane,
Oblivians,
Shuggie Otis,
Index,
Boz Scaggs,
Yaz,
Goldenarms,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
OOIOO,
Bill Wells,
Babytalk,
Mr. Review,
The Fortunes,
Severed Heads,
The Zeros,
Model 500,
The Cowsills,
The Smoke,
Livin' Joy,
Fugazi,
Trumans Water,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Scan 7,
F. McDonald,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
The Names,
Accadde A,
Loose Ends,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
The Black Dice,
Eddi Front,
Mission of Burma,
Easy Going,
Aural Exciters,
David McCallum,
Scott Walker,
Jacques Brel,
Josef K,
Essential Logic,
The Gladiators,
Scrapy,
Sparks,
Erasure,
the Sonics, the Sonics, the Sonics, the Sonics.
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.