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 Comoros and from Paris.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television show in New York.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Edmonton 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 clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Suicide to the crunk kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Con Funk Shun. All the underground hits.
All Buzzcocks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Jacques Brel record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sex Pistols record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Quantec,
Subhumans,
Mission of Burma,
Jesper Dahlback,
The Doors,
Rekid,
Interpol,
Popol Vuh,
Oneida,
Theoretical Girls,
Half Japanese,
Nik Kershaw,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Technova,
The Pretty Things,
Bootsy Collins,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
DJ Sneak,
The Angels of Light,
Soulsonic Force,
Zapp,
Simply Red,
Swans,
Lower 48,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Excepter,
Electric Prunes,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Joyce Sims,
E-Dancer,
Wally Richardson,
Fat Boys,
Outsiders,
Q and Not U,
the Swans,
Khruangbin,
Kurtis Blow,
Silicon Teens,
Mark Hollis,
Buzzcocks,
Cal Tjader,
Traffic Nightmare,
Charles Mingus,
The Cure,
Infiniti,
Bob Dylan,
Sun City Girls,
the Soft Cell,
Fatback Band,
Letta Mbulu,
Adolescents,
JFA,
World's Most,
Basic Channel,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Fugazi,
Barbara Tucker,
Sugar Minott, Sugar Minott, Sugar Minott, Sugar Minott.
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.