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 Uganda and from Toronto.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lyon 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 1971 at the first Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 The Wake to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 H. Thieme. All the underground hits.
All The Searchers tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Fuzztones record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno 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 rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Iggy Pop record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
A Flock of Seagulls,
a-ha,
Erykah Badu,
Camouflage,
Crooked Eye,
Sex Pistols,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Icehouse,
Pierre Henry,
Althea and Donna,
Au Pairs,
Unrelated Segments,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Pole,
Marvin Gaye,
Pulsallama,
Sight & Sound,
The Raincoats,
Livin' Joy,
Q and Not U,
Leonard Cohen,
China Crisis,
Drexciya,
Technova,
Wire,
Lindisfarne,
Funky Four + One,
Accadde A,
Godley & Creme,
Duran Duran,
Slick Rick,
The Star Department,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Average White Band,
New York Dolls,
Depeche Mode,
The Mighty Diamonds,
48th St. Collective,
ABBA,
Alison Limerick,
Freddie Wadling,
Man Eating Sloth,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Lightning Bolt,
The Skatalites,
Con Funk Shun,
Judy Mowatt,
The Grass Roots,
L. Decosne,
The Doobie Brothers,
the Normal,
Infiniti,
Fad Gadget,
Tubeway Army,
The Gap Band,
Brand Nubian,
Pere Ubu,
Public Enemy,
Jimmy McGriff,
The Electric Prunes,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
La Düsseldorf,
Byron Stingily, Byron Stingily, Byron Stingily, Byron Stingily.
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.