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 Uruguay and from Lagos.
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 1965 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Lagos.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 1971 at the first Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Robert Wyatt to the grime 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 Sixth Finger. All the underground hits.
All Television tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Eyeless In Gaza 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Black Pus record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Dirtbombs,
The Fortunes,
Blake Baxter,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
The Smiths,
Alphaville,
Ralphi Rosario,
Laurel Aitken,
The Real Kids,
Absolute Body Control,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Scott Walker,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Parry Music,
Todd Terry,
Marc Almond,
Dorothy Ashby,
Sonny Sharrock,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Groovy Waters,
Brand Nubian,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Lower 48,
Delon & Dalcan,
Reuben Wilson,
Silicon Teens,
Scratch Acid,
Sugar Minott,
Throbbing Gristle,
ABBA,
One Last Wish,
Nick Fraelich,
Symarip,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
48th St. Collective,
Lucky Dragons,
Q and Not U,
Neil Young,
U.S. Maple,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Crispy Ambulance,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Bob Dylan,
Circle Jerks,
Junior Murvin,
The Shadows of Knight,
a-ha,
Bill Wells,
Skarface,
8 Eyed Spy,
Blancmange,
Eric B and Rakim,
Kerrie Biddell,
Sonic Youth,
The Young Rascals,
The Moody Blues,
The Mojo Men,
Moby Grape,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
The Dead C,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Echospace,
Darondo, Darondo, Darondo, Darondo.
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.