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 Eritrea 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 1962 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Lower 48 to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Erykah Badu. All the underground hits.
All Harry Pussy tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Todd Terry 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Liaisons Dangereuses record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Crime,
Brass Construction,
Crispian St. Peters,
Big Daddy Kane,
Jeff Lynne,
Thompson Twins,
Thee Headcoats,
Rites of Spring,
Arthur Verocai,
Bootsy Collins,
Icehouse,
ABC,
EPMD,
E-Dancer,
Radiopuhelimet,
Tres Demented,
The Velvet Underground,
Rufus Thomas,
Blake Baxter,
The Monks,
The Sisters of Mercy,
The Skatalites,
Brick,
Marmalade,
UT,
Swell Maps,
Marc Almond,
Cecil Taylor,
Steve Hackett,
Nation of Ulysses,
Royal Trux,
Donny Hathaway,
Arab on Radar,
Carl Craig,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Talk Talk,
The Motions,
Television,
The Gladiators,
June of 44,
L. Decosne,
Kayak,
Joey Negro,
Magma,
Ultra Naté,
The Music Machine,
Girls At Our Best!,
Swans,
Brand Nubian,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Amon Düül II,
Nils Olav,
Peter & Gordon,
Marshall Jefferson,
Reuben Wilson,
Harpers Bizarre,
Leonard Cohen,
The Searchers, The Searchers, The Searchers, The Searchers.
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.