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 Cameroon and from Accra.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 Tehran and Seoul.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 1978 at the first Visage practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 B.T. Express to the funk 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 Marcia Griffiths. All the underground hits.
All F. McDonald tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Duran Duran 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 rhodes and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Cosmic Jokers record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Marvin Gaye,
Avey Tare,
the Slits,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Mo-Dettes,
The Divine Comedy,
Arthur Verocai,
Subhumans,
Derrick Morgan,
Make Up,
The Blackbyrds,
Pet Shop Boys,
Average White Band,
Curtis Mayfield,
Brass Construction,
Bad Manners,
Max Romeo,
Procol Harum,
Cal Tjader,
The Trojans,
the Fania All-Stars,
The New Christs,
Cecil Taylor,
Stereo Dub,
Los Fastidios,
Massinfluence,
Livin' Joy,
Wasted Youth,
The Fuzztones,
Todd Rundgren,
Bobby Byrd,
Dual Sessions,
Excepter,
The Modern Lovers,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Mary Jane Girls,
The Sonics,
Dark Day,
Dead Boys,
The Vogues,
Hashim,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Lou Reed,
Royal Trux,
Sunsets and Hearts,
One Last Wish,
Mission of Burma,
The Blues Magoos,
Banda Bassotti,
Juan Atkins,
David Axelrod,
Rites of Spring,
Oblivians,
Wally Richardson,
Stockholm Monsters,
CMW,
Kerrie Biddell,
The Happenings,
The Victims,
Ken Boothe,
Infiniti,
The Kinks, The Kinks, The Kinks, The Kinks.
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.