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 Venezuela and from Woodstock.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic 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 1962 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 mellotron 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 Aural Exciters to the rock 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 Sound Behaviour. All the underground hits.
All Beasts of Bourbon tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Nation of Ulysses 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Grass Roots record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pet Shop Boys,
Ronnie Foster,
Black Moon,
Symarip,
The Mojo Men,
a-ha,
Carl Craig,
Motorama,
Josef K,
Glenn Branca,
Glambeats Corp.,
Peter & Gordon,
The Mighty Diamonds,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Donny Hathaway,
Alice Coltrane,
Echospace,
Lakeside,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Supertramp,
Suicide,
The Human League,
Bill Near,
Eden Ahbez,
The Gap Band,
Sex Pistols,
Whodini,
The Count Five,
Be Bop Deluxe,
B.T. Express,
Model 500,
Maleditus Sound,
Youth Brigade,
The Evens,
Matthew Halsall,
Drive Like Jehu,
The Dead C,
Gerry Rafferty,
Sun City Girls,
Boredoms,
Black Bananas,
The Fire Engines,
Little Man,
The Black Dice,
Deepchord,
Dual Sessions,
Harmonia,
Clear Light,
the Normal,
Eric Copeland,
OOIOO,
Aloha Tigers,
Colin Newman,
The Litter,
Barrington Levy,
Soft Cell,
Half Japanese,
the Sonics,
Joyce Sims,
Eddi Front,
Drexciya, Drexciya, Drexciya, Drexciya.
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.