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 Cyprus and from Seoul.
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 1967 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manila and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Holt to the grunge 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 Babytalk. All the underground hits.
All Aural Exciters tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Amazonics record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk 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 an organ and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Electric Prunes record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Cosmic Jokers,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
The Toasters,
Swans,
Sister Nancy,
Mad Mike,
The Misunderstood,
The Shadows of Knight,
Hoover,
Blancmange,
Gichy Dan,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
The Grass Roots,
Bush Tetras,
Joe Finger,
The Human League,
Marc Almond,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
the Bar-Kays,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Ultra Naté,
Can,
Idris Muhammad,
Visage,
Crash Course in Science,
Frankie Knuckles,
the Association,
The Dead C,
Fatback Band,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Lightning Bolt,
The Remains,
The Pretty Things,
Cabaret Voltaire,
The Cure,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Bobby Womack,
Eric Copeland,
Ten City,
The Wake,
Don Cherry,
ABC,
Bauhaus,
Joy Division,
Lyres,
Dark Day,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Aloha Tigers,
Das Ding,
Alison Limerick,
Sonic Youth,
The Last Poets,
Sight & Sound,
Glenn Branca,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
the Soft Cell,
8 Eyed Spy,
the Human League,
Henry Cow,
Tropical Tobacco,
Colin Newman,
Johnny Osbourne,
Mars,
Sandy B, Sandy B, Sandy B, Sandy B.
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.