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 Cape Verde and from Spokane.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
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 The Modern Lovers to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Throbbing Gristle. All the underground hits.
All Morten Harket tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Moby Grape record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Peanut Butter Conspiracy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Isaac Hayes,
Y Pants,
Grauzone,
Wasted Youth,
The Searchers,
The Five Americans,
the Human League,
Freddie Wadling,
The Walker Brothers,
Michelle Simonal,
Fad Gadget,
Kerrie Biddell,
Jacques Brel,
Black Bananas,
The Star Department,
Sight & Sound,
Robert Hood,
Leonard Cohen,
Moss Icon,
Brick,
Junior Murvin,
The Litter,
Tommy Roe,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Boredoms,
Das Ding,
Laurel Aitken,
Wings,
Warsaw,
Hasil Adkins,
Amon Düül,
Vladislav Delay,
The American Breed,
Second Layer,
Subhumans,
Sixth Finger,
Morten Harket,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Duran Duran,
Roxy Music,
Joyce Sims,
Angry Samoans,
Cymande,
Scrapy,
Nick Fraelich,
Eric Dolphy,
Fugazi,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Flamin' Groovies,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
The Index,
10cc,
John Holt,
Ultimate Spinach,
Cluster,
Index,
FM Einheit,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Drexciya,
Section 25,
Wolf Eyes,
ABBA, ABBA, ABBA, ABBA.
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.