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 Estonia and from Seoul.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1962 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Columbus.
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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Gun Club to the disco 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 Crispian St. Peters. All the underground hits.
All Lyres tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Tropical Tobacco record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 a linndrum and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Jimmy McGriff record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Charles Mingus,
The Durutti Column,
Ohio Players,
The Remains,
June Days,
Franke,
The Count Five,
Roxy Music,
Junior Murvin,
Echospace,
Rites of Spring,
Jacques Brel,
The Standells,
The Victims,
The Move,
Electric Light Orchestra,
The Gladiators,
Duran Duran,
Gang Green,
Camberwell Now,
Icehouse,
Al Stewart,
The Monochrome Set,
Little Man,
Throbbing Gristle,
Gil Scott Heron,
Pole,
Yaz,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
H. Thieme,
Jerry Gold Smith,
the Soft Cell,
The Electric Prunes,
London Community Gospel Choir,
The Doors,
Electric Prunes,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Supertramp,
Popol Vuh,
Sexual Harrassment,
The Monks,
Moby Grape,
Lungfish,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Accadde A,
Letta Mbulu,
Basic Channel,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Kerrie Biddell,
China Crisis,
Robert Görl,
The Five Americans,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
The Grass Roots,
Big Daddy Kane,
Black Pus,
Sonic Youth,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
James White and The Blacks, James White and The Blacks, James White and The Blacks, James White and The Blacks.
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.