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 Algeria and from Accra.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television show in New York.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 The American Breed to the techno kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Electric Prunes. All the underground hits.
All Spoonie Gee tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Cheater Slicks record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Letta Mbulu record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Danielle Patucci,
Funkadelic,
Can,
Alison Limerick,
Dark Day,
Qualms,
Basic Channel,
K-Klass,
Youth Brigade,
Rapeman,
Marvin Gaye,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Make Up,
John Cale,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Swell Maps,
Brick,
Talk Talk,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Suburban Knight,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Spoonie Gee,
Cameo,
DJ Style,
Von Mondo,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Mr. Review,
Shoche,
Letta Mbulu,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
the Human League,
Piero Umiliani,
Clear Light,
Faraquet,
Audionom,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
The Leaves,
The Neon Judgement,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
The Slits,
H. Thieme,
The Dirtbombs,
Bootsy Collins,
Section 25,
Jacob Miller,
The Gladiators,
John Holt,
The Index,
Guru Guru,
Grandmaster Flash,
Al Stewart,
Wasted Youth,
The Residents,
Eric Copeland,
Scott Walker,
Wally Richardson,
Model 500,
New Age Steppers,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Metal Thangz,
B.T. Express,
Japan, Japan, Japan, Japan.
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.