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 China 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 1963 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 1984 at the first Arcadia practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 London Community Gospel Choir to the grunge 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 Tres Demented. All the underground hits.
All The Beau Brummels tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pantaleimon record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno 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 mellotron and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sad Lovers and Giants record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Kool Moe Dee,
Goldenarms,
The Slackers,
Pharoah Sanders,
Vladislav Delay,
Alison Limerick,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Y Pants,
Roxette,
Icehouse,
The Birthday Party,
Donald Byrd,
EPMD,
Lucky Dragons,
Kerrie Biddell,
Donny Hathaway,
The Gap Band,
The Trojans,
Shuggie Otis,
Groovy Waters,
Rotary Connection,
Liliput,
Throbbing Gristle,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Pantaleimon,
Bill Near,
Crispian St. Peters,
Simply Red,
Silicon Teens,
Kerri Chandler,
The Music Machine,
ABC,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Glambeats Corp.,
The Neon Judgement,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Brand Nubian,
The Alarm Clocks,
The Toasters,
Bluetip,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Deepchord,
Barbara Tucker,
R.M.O.,
Morten Harket,
Suburban Knight,
Yazoo,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Black Moon,
Ituana,
Wire,
Porter Ricks,
Tim Buckley,
Ken Boothe,
The Saints,
Ice-T,
Electric Prunes,
Faraquet,
Schoolly D,
Peter & Gordon,
Godley & Creme,
Scion,
Terry Callier, Terry Callier, Terry Callier, Terry Callier.
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.