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 Armenia and from Shanghai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 Manchester and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan to the crunk kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Alice Coltrane. All the underground hits.
All Echo & the Bunnymen tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Lightning Bolt 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Bobby Womack record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Cybotron,
Mandrill,
Make Up,
Siglo XX,
Scott Walker,
The Misunderstood,
The Dirtbombs,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Scan 7,
Animal Collective,
The Techniques,
Los Fastidios,
Funkadelic,
Angry Samoans,
The Pretty Things,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
the Soft Cell,
Robert Görl,
The Victims,
The Electric Prunes,
June Days,
The Count Five,
Kas Product,
Ronan,
Cymande,
Urselle,
the Germs,
Ice-T,
The Happenings,
The Trojans,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
The Black Dice,
Kayak,
Eve St. Jones,
Bill Wells,
Joe Smooth,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Saccharine Trust,
Spandau Ballet,
Radiohead,
Harpers Bizarre,
Brand Nubian,
Camouflage,
Donny Hathaway,
Cameo,
Vainqueur,
Rakim,
The Golliwogs,
Sex Pistols,
Royal Trux,
Leonard Cohen,
Moss Icon,
Country Teasers,
Nick Fraelich,
Roy Ayers,
The Moody Blues,
Wally Richardson,
Alice Coltrane,
Bobbi Humphrey,
The Leaves,
Sonny Sharrock,
The Fire Engines, The Fire Engines, The Fire Engines, The Fire Engines.
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.