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 Norway and from Edmonton.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South 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 1960 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Milan and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Kings Of Tomorrow to the techno kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Nils Olav. All the underground hits.
All Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Rapeman record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk 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 guitar and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Crispy Ambulance 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?
The Motions,
Pet Shop Boys,
Joensuu 1685,
T. Rex,
Bronski Beat,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Ronan,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Alison Limerick,
Mad Mike,
Bush Tetras,
Jawbox,
Q65,
Minor Threat,
Kaleidoscope,
The Leaves,
Brand Nubian,
Don Cherry,
Colin Newman,
Popol Vuh,
Andrew Hill,
Ohio Players,
Model 500,
Suburban Knight,
Jacob Miller,
June of 44,
Susan Cadogan,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Country Teasers,
Ultra Naté,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
David McCallum,
Roger Hodgson,
Los Fastidios,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Easy Going,
Soft Cell,
Alice Coltrane,
Eve St. Jones,
Spandau Ballet,
The Blackbyrds,
Marmalade,
Peter and Kerry,
The Barracudas,
The Fuzztones,
the Slits,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Suicide,
Qualms,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Thompson Twins,
L. Decosne,
Symarip,
The Dead C,
June Days,
Robert Görl,
Aswad,
The Fire Engines,
Rosa Yemen,
Niagra,
Skarface,
The Index,
Charles Mingus, Charles Mingus, Charles Mingus, Charles Mingus.
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.