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 Iraq and from Johannesburg.
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 1968 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Bologna.
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 1984 at the first Arcadia practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the güiro sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Fatback Band to the crunk kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Morten Harket. All the underground hits.
All Barclay James Harvest tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Beasts of Bourbon record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a 8 Eyed Spy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Index,
The Litter,
Icehouse,
Rhythm & Sound,
The Raincoats,
Clear Light,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Mission of Burma,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Sam Rivers,
Jeru the Damaja,
The Gun Club,
Shuggie Otis,
R.M.O.,
Swell Maps,
Ice-T,
Aaron Thompson,
Banda Bassotti,
Matthew Halsall,
Rakim,
Tomorrow,
June of 44,
Throbbing Gristle,
The Smiths,
Brick,
Quando Quango,
Tears for Fears,
Soul Sonic Force,
Beasts of Bourbon,
This Heat,
Ituana,
The Wake,
The Buckinghams,
Byron Stingily,
Pagans,
Lou Reed,
Grauzone,
Cal Tjader,
Kurtis Blow,
Anthony Braxton,
Bill Near,
Theoretical Girls,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Silicon Teens,
Bill Wells,
The Happenings,
Buzzcocks,
The Smoke,
Pylon,
The Moleskins,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Alice Coltrane,
Deepchord,
Boz Scaggs,
Zapp,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Franke,
Pantytec,
Rapeman,
Von Mondo,
H. Thieme,
Kevin Saunderson,
Alison Limerick,
Man Parrish, Man Parrish, Man Parrish, Man Parrish.
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.