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 Hungary and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Art of Noise show in London.
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 1966 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tokyo and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mumbai 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 mellotron 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 Leonard Cohen to the rap kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Connie Case. All the underground hits.
All N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Standells record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Lucky Dragons,
Organ,
Pere Ubu,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Accadde A,
Lalann,
Judy Mowatt,
Average White Band,
The Vogues,
Vladislav Delay,
The Black Dice,
Morten Harket,
Supertramp,
Gang Starr,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Clear Light,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
James White and The Blacks,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Hasil Adkins,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Skriet,
Slave,
The Velvet Underground,
Con Funk Shun,
R.M.O.,
The Cure,
Pagans,
Marc Almond,
Fat Boys,
Bluetip,
Youth Brigade,
DNA,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Althea and Donna,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Jacques Brel,
the Swans,
Anakelly,
Camouflage,
The Tremeloes,
The Mummies,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Maleditus Sound,
Qualms,
Quantec,
Throbbing Gristle,
The Slackers,
Faraquet,
Marvin Gaye,
Scientists,
Cymande,
Camberwell Now,
Black Sheep,
Excepter,
Bootsy Collins,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Lalo Schifrin,
Wire,
Interpol,
Mission of Burma,
Juan Atkins,
Barry Ungar,
Hot Snakes, Hot Snakes, Hot Snakes, Hot Snakes.
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.