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 Kiribati and from Johannesburg.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Tokyo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school London 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the theremin 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 Babytalk to the rock 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 The Monochrome Set. All the underground hits.
All Major Organ And The Adding Machine tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Searchers record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gang Gang Dance record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Knickerbockers,
Brick,
Henry Cow,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Q65,
Japan,
Boredoms,
Black Moon,
Derrick May,
Terrestrial Tones,
Barry Ungar,
Simply Red,
Agitation Free,
Average White Band,
Susan Cadogan,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
the Human League,
Marshall Jefferson,
Scion,
Public Enemy,
The Skatalites,
Mission of Burma,
Lou Reed,
The Gladiators,
Bill Near,
Aaron Thompson,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
The Dead C,
Slave,
Pet Shop Boys,
Intrusion,
H. Thieme,
Yellowson,
Radiohead,
Infiniti,
Duran Duran,
Ituana,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Popol Vuh,
Visage,
New York Dolls,
T. Rex,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Inner City,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Johnny Osbourne,
Sound Behaviour,
Amon Düül II,
Faust,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Reuben Wilson,
Man Parrish,
Brothers Johnson,
Los Fastidios,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Flipper,
Masters at Work,
Amazonics,
Urselle,
Skarface,
Chrome,
Crash Course in Science, Crash Course in Science, Crash Course in Science, Crash Course in Science.
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.