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 St Kitts & Nevis and from Madrid.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle 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 1968 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 harpsichord 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 These Immortal Souls to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Average White Band. All the underground hits.
All Reuben Wilson tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Kinks 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a snare and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Lee Hazlewood record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Cure,
Gong,
X-Ray Spex,
L. Decosne,
The Moody Blues,
Subhumans,
Cal Tjader,
Tomorrow,
Radiopuhelimet,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Steve Hackett,
Country Joe & The Fish,
La Düsseldorf,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Loose Ends,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
K-Klass,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Sun City Girls,
The American Breed,
Ken Boothe,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Mandrill,
Drexciya,
Michelle Simonal,
Bang On A Can,
Flamin' Groovies,
In Retrospect,
Charles Mingus,
The Searchers,
Ossler,
Crooked Eye,
Faraquet,
Donald Byrd,
Eden Ahbez,
the Germs,
Marc Almond,
The Standells,
Barbara Tucker,
Scan 7,
Severed Heads,
The Dead C,
Pharoah Sanders,
Judy Mowatt,
Slick Rick,
Quantec,
Yellowson,
Rites of Spring,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Ponytail,
Nik Kershaw,
The Young Rascals,
Prince Buster,
Joe Finger,
Television,
Howard Jones,
Ohio Players,
China Crisis,
Marmalade,
The Stooges,
Second Layer, Second Layer, Second Layer, Second Layer.
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.