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 Congo and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1978.
I was there at the first Visage show in London.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Columbus 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the clarinet 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 Slick Rick 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 Sixth Finger. All the underground hits.
All The Jesus and Mary Chain tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Trumans Water 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Rapeman record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Fort Wilson Riot,
Jerry Gold Smith,
This Heat,
Eurythmics,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
The Smiths,
The Dirtbombs,
Radio Birdman,
Ponytail,
John Coltrane,
Duran Duran,
Sandy B,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Fat Boys,
Big Daddy Kane,
The Doors,
The Fall,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Lalo Schifrin,
Gichy Dan,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Drexciya,
Jimmy McGriff,
The Last Poets,
Kool Moe Dee,
Tropical Tobacco,
Gang of Four,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Unwound,
FM Einheit,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Rapeman,
The Standells,
B.T. Express,
Mission of Burma,
Gastr Del Sol,
Slave,
Susan Cadogan,
The Durutti Column,
Delon & Dalcan,
Maurizio,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Zero Boys,
The Alarm Clocks,
Rod Modell,
Deakin,
Swans,
Quantec,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Ronnie Foster,
Lucky Dragons,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
June Days,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
R.M.O.,
Funkadelic,
Bluetip,
Drive Like Jehu,
Goldenarms,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Bobby Womack, Bobby Womack, Bobby Womack, Bobby Womack.
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.