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 Maldives and from London.
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 1963 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bremen and Taipei.
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 oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 John Foxx to the dance kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band. All the underground hits.
All Eden Ahbez tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every June Days record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime 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 snare and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Dave Gahan record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Carl Craig,
The Black Dice,
The Raincoats,
The Fire Engines,
Amazonics,
Parry Music,
Neu!,
Susan Cadogan,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Black Bananas,
Eli Mardock,
Derrick May,
Fear,
The Names,
Don Cherry,
Iggy Pop,
The Electric Prunes,
Donald Byrd,
Porter Ricks,
Make Up,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Camouflage,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Aural Exciters,
Bobby Hutcherson,
The Golliwogs,
The Remains,
Blancmange,
The Modern Lovers,
June of 44,
Kas Product,
Vladislav Delay,
Lou Reed,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Harry Pussy,
Joyce Sims,
The Trojans,
MC5,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Scratch Acid,
Bad Manners,
Barbara Tucker,
Alton Ellis,
Minny Pops,
Bill Near,
Circle Jerks,
Maurizio,
The Gladiators,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Severed Heads,
Cymande,
Lalo Schifrin,
The Saints,
Soft Machine,
Mark Hollis,
A Certain Ratio,
Graham Central Station,
Throbbing Gristle,
Wolf Eyes,
Ituana,
Kaleidoscope, Kaleidoscope, Kaleidoscope, Kaleidoscope.
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.