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 Norway and from Paris.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1967 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Calgary 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 1984 at the first Arcadia practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Bootsy's Rubber Band to the jazz 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 Bobby Hutcherson. All the underground hits.
All Archie Shepp tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Flipper record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 an organ and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Roxette record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Pretty Things,
Howard Jones,
T.S.O.L.,
Cybotron,
Inner City,
Pagans,
Chrome,
Shuggie Otis,
Davy DMX,
Oblivians,
Rufus Thomas,
Pussy Galore,
Scott Walker,
The Detroit Cobras,
Royal Trux,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Fela Kuti,
Masters at Work,
X-Ray Spex,
Stiv Bators,
Magma,
Cameo,
Metal Thangz,
Surgeon,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Bill Near,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Sonny Sharrock,
Sandy B,
The Red Krayola,
Moby Grape,
Tres Demented,
The Knickerbockers,
Public Image Ltd.,
David Axelrod,
the Fania All-Stars,
Television Personalities,
Blake Baxter,
Jacob Miller,
The Beau Brummels,
the Soft Cell,
The Remains,
Nation of Ulysses,
Pylon,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Gang of Four,
John Holt,
Faust,
Morten Harket,
Lee Hazlewood,
10cc,
The Divine Comedy,
Bizarre Inc.,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Mark Hollis,
Black Pus,
Swell Maps,
MDC,
Fad Gadget,
The Dead C, The Dead C, The Dead C, The Dead C.
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.