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 Lebanon and from Toronto.
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 1963 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Move to the disco 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 Juan Atkins. All the underground hits.
All Tres Demented tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every David Axelrod 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Crime record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
MC5,
Ronan,
The Smiths,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Morten Harket,
Eli Mardock,
The Searchers,
Ludus,
Black Bananas,
Das Ding,
John Holt,
Wally Richardson,
Desert Stars,
Supertramp,
Grandmaster Flash,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Josef K,
The Wake,
Barbara Tucker,
Boogie Down Productions,
Subhumans,
Faraquet,
LL Cool J,
Robert Görl,
Roxette,
Graham Central Station,
Sonny Sharrock,
Sex Pistols,
Agent Orange,
Alice Coltrane,
The Gap Band,
Mad Mike,
Robert Wyatt,
Duran Duran,
The Raincoats,
Nas,
Sexual Harrassment,
Amon Düül,
James White and The Blacks,
Tomorrow,
Bill Near,
The Moleskins,
Sixth Finger,
DJ Sneak,
The Durutti Column,
Jawbox,
The Birthday Party,
Goldenarms,
Amazonics,
R.M.O.,
These Immortal Souls,
Lower 48,
The Young Rascals,
Circle Jerks,
Whodini,
The Dead C,
Kayak,
Terry Callier,
Black Pus,
Mantronix,
Arthur Verocai,
The Stooges,
Tears for Fears,
Shoche,
Wire, Wire, Wire, Wire.
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.