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 Guinea-Bissau and from Edmonton.
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 Sao Paulo and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Edmonton 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the guitar 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 Section 25 to the electroclash 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 Adolescents. All the underground hits.
All Bobbi Humphrey tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Kenny Larkin 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 marimba and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Oppenheimer Analysis record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Chrome,
X-101,
Arab on Radar,
The Monks,
Vainqueur,
Eric B and Rakim,
Gabor Szabo,
Donald Byrd,
The Slackers,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Nik Kershaw,
cv313,
10cc,
Malaria!,
Piero Umiliani,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Bizarre Inc.,
June Days,
The Divine Comedy,
Soft Machine,
Model 500,
Scrapy,
Sonny Sharrock,
Ronnie Foster,
Desert Stars,
Bob Dylan,
Derrick Morgan,
Bobby Hutcherson,
The Red Krayola,
Gang Gang Dance,
Jacob Miller,
Slick Rick,
Robert Görl,
The Star Department,
Terry Callier,
Animal Collective,
Pantaleimon,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Michelle Simonal,
Pulsallama,
The Last Poets,
the Normal,
The Stooges,
Jandek,
John Cale,
Brand Nubian,
The Techniques,
Bobby Sherman,
T. Rex,
The Durutti Column,
Mark Hollis,
Minutemen,
Trumans Water,
Terrestrial Tones,
Nirvana,
Fela Kuti,
Minor Threat,
Pere Ubu,
Pet Shop Boys,
Soft Cell, Soft Cell, Soft Cell, Soft Cell.
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.