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 Bahrain and from Delhi.
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 1966 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Stockholm.
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 1965 at the first Beefheart practice in a loft in Lancaster.
I was working on the mellotron 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 Banda Bassotti to the techno 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 The Men They Couldn't Hang. All the underground hits.
All Fear tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pet Shop Boys record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge 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 marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Black Moon,
Cameo,
The Residents,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Stiv Bators,
The Raincoats,
Index,
Schoolly D,
Bootsy Collins,
Stetsasonic,
Television Personalities,
Warsaw,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Cheater Slicks,
Oneida,
The Black Dice,
David Bowie,
Yaz,
The Divine Comedy,
Lou Christie,
Lindisfarne,
The New Christs,
The J.B.'s,
Roxy Music,
John Foxx,
The Cure,
Gastr Del Sol,
Interpol,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Funkadelic,
Infiniti,
Ken Boothe,
the Soft Cell,
Severed Heads,
Harry Pussy,
The Techniques,
Parry Music,
Suicide,
Al Stewart,
The Fortunes,
Echospace,
Brick,
Public Enemy,
Judy Mowatt,
Gang Gang Dance,
Howard Jones,
The Associates,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Hardrive,
Pagans,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Susan Cadogan,
Faraquet,
Robert Wyatt,
Wasted Youth,
Dennis Brown,
Erykah Badu,
Joey Negro,
Depeche Mode,
Pylon,
Brass Construction,
The Sonics,
Motorama, Motorama, Motorama, Motorama.
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.