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 Namibia and from Copenhagen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Neu! show in Düsseldorf.
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 1961 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 theremin 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 Man Parrish to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Harmonia. All the underground hits.
All The Smiths tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Siouxsie and the Banshees record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Funky Four + One record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
K-Klass,
The Human League,
ABBA,
Harry Pussy,
Bang On A Can,
The Angels of Light,
Faraquet,
Lyres,
Lakeside,
The Slackers,
the Slits,
Iggy Pop,
Fifty Foot Hose,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Rod Modell,
Steve Hackett,
Max Romeo,
the Normal,
Mo-Dettes,
Roger Hodgson,
Marshall Jefferson,
The Last Poets,
The Dirtbombs,
Audionom,
Shuggie Otis,
Soulsonic Force,
Howard Jones,
Nils Olav,
The Vogues,
Roy Ayers,
Ice-T,
Jerry's Kids,
Youth Brigade,
Thee Headcoats,
Crime,
Alice Coltrane,
The Grass Roots,
World's Most,
OOIOO,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Camouflage,
Electric Prunes,
Can,
Wasted Youth,
Kurtis Blow,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Dave Gahan,
Aswad,
the Germs,
The Durutti Column,
the Soft Cell,
Bootsy Collins,
Morten Harket,
Bill Wells,
The Fall,
Vladislav Delay,
Stiv Bators,
Bad Manners,
Man Parrish,
The Trojans,
Wings,
Talk Talk,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Eric Dolphy, Eric Dolphy, Eric Dolphy, Eric Dolphy.
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.