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 Uruguay and from Sao Paulo.
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 1960 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Tokyo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the spring reverb 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 Black Bananas to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Jerry Gold Smith. All the underground hits.
All Angry Samoans tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Marine Girls record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Fortunes record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Walker Brothers,
the Fania All-Stars,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Beasts of Bourbon,
the Germs,
Cymande,
Whodini,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Scratch Acid,
The Star Department,
Dorothy Ashby,
Public Enemy,
Jeff Mills,
Sex Pistols,
Urselle,
Maleditus Sound,
Babytalk,
Lalo Schifrin,
Mantronix,
The Saints,
A Certain Ratio,
Minor Threat,
Ralphi Rosario,
The Modern Lovers,
Cheater Slicks,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Reuben Wilson,
La Düsseldorf,
Sparks,
Skaos,
The Beau Brummels,
The Angels of Light,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
The Dave Clark Five,
Don Cherry,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
T. Rex,
Deadbeat,
Outsiders,
Blancmange,
Gong,
Sexual Harrassment,
Idris Muhammad,
Warren Ellis,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
James White and The Blacks,
Byron Stingily,
Sound Behaviour,
Tomorrow,
Alton Ellis,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Deakin,
Sonic Youth,
The Invisible,
Quantec,
Lee Hazlewood,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Symarip, Symarip, Symarip, Symarip.
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.