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 Netherlands and from Stockholm.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide show in New York.
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 1962 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and London.
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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Franke to the techno kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Robert Wyatt. All the underground hits.
All Kool G Rap & DJ Polo tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Brass Construction record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Tres Demented record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Popol Vuh,
The Pretty Things,
Fugazi,
The Selecter,
Pet Shop Boys,
Make Up,
Malaria!,
X-Ray Spex,
Moby Grape,
The Durutti Column,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Joensuu 1685,
Public Enemy,
Minnie Riperton,
Robert Wyatt,
Lou Reed,
Scientists,
Japan,
Bauhaus,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Man Eating Sloth,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Fatback Band,
Michelle Simonal,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Steve Hackett,
Sandy B,
Glenn Branca,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Funkadelic,
Lightning Bolt,
Pierre Henry,
David Bowie,
Cabaret Voltaire,
The Invisible,
The Dirtbombs,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
The Fortunes,
T.S.O.L.,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Y Pants,
Smog,
David McCallum,
The Misunderstood,
Bobbi Humphrey,
The Slits,
Altered Images,
The Kinks,
The Beau Brummels,
The Fugs,
Nas,
Das Ding,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Avey Tare,
Yaz,
Faraquet,
Minutemen,
Sparks,
Roger Hodgson, Roger Hodgson, Roger Hodgson, Roger Hodgson.
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.