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 Nicaragua and from Salvador.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bremen and Woodstock.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 spring reverb 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 Eric Copeland to the grime 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 Charles Mingus. All the underground hits.
All Masters at Work tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Crash Course in Science 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Cheater Slicks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Dark Day,
Soul II Soul,
Sugar Minott,
Thee Headcoats,
Harry Pussy,
Television,
Pere Ubu,
Heaven 17,
Procol Harum,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Quando Quango,
Harmonia,
Hoover,
The American Breed,
Neil Young,
a-ha,
The Standells,
The Dirtbombs,
Donald Byrd,
Joy Division,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Soul Sonic Force,
Sandy B,
Tropical Tobacco,
The Offenders,
Marvin Gaye,
Lalo Schifrin,
Lee Hazlewood,
The Selecter,
Barry Ungar,
Talk Talk,
The Beau Brummels,
The Mummies,
Fugazi,
Crash Course in Science,
Kaleidoscope,
Nico,
Arthur Verocai,
Archie Shepp,
The Birthday Party,
Joe Finger,
Spandau Ballet,
The Raincoats,
The Angels of Light,
the Human League,
The Remains,
Neu!,
Gastr Del Sol,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Rakim,
Scan 7,
Banda Bassotti,
Japan,
Scientists,
Lungfish,
Boz Scaggs,
Rapeman,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Bootsy Collins,
Mr. Review,
Roxette,
Leonard Cohen, Leonard Cohen, Leonard Cohen, Leonard Cohen.
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.