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 France and from Mumbai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television 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 1961 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Woodstock.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Larry & the Blue Notes 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 Gastr Del Sol. All the underground hits.
All Reuben Wilson tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every KRS-One 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sexual Harrassment record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Kayak,
Aural Exciters,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Bluetip,
Henry Cow,
Soft Cell,
Pulsallama,
Television Personalities,
E-Dancer,
Brick,
Judy Mowatt,
Jacques Brel,
Carl Craig,
Leonard Cohen,
OOIOO,
the Human League,
Donny Hathaway,
Robert Hood,
Suicide,
Japan,
Boredoms,
Eric B and Rakim,
Faraquet,
Audionom,
Mandrill,
Tom Boy,
U.S. Maple,
Maurizio,
Patti Smith,
Dawn Penn,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
the Sonics,
The Electric Prunes,
Little Man,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Das Ding,
Terry Callier,
Desert Stars,
cv313,
Crispian St. Peters,
Angry Samoans,
Gong,
The Sonics,
The Star Department,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Kenny Larkin,
The Dead C,
Bootsy Collins,
Radiopuhelimet,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Jeru the Damaja,
Sällskapet,
Vainqueur,
Thompson Twins,
Soul II Soul,
Sonic Youth,
Shuggie Otis,
Nils Olav,
K-Klass,
The Jesus and Mary Chain, The Jesus and Mary Chain, The Jesus and Mary Chain, The Jesus and Mary Chain.
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.