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 Germany and from Spokane.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1969 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lagos 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 1983 at the first Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Velvet Underground to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Soft Machine. All the underground hits.
All Make Up tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Strawberry Alarm Clock record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 güiro and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Tropical Tobacco record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord 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 Stooges,
The Buckinghams,
Aloha Tigers,
Chris & Cosey,
Rakim,
Pet Shop Boys,
Scion,
B.T. Express,
One Last Wish,
June of 44,
Intrusion,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
The Electric Prunes,
Grandmaster Flash,
The Move,
Thee Headcoats,
Duran Duran,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
The Detroit Cobras,
The Tremeloes,
The Fire Engines,
Soft Cell,
Ornette Coleman,
Black Sheep,
Rotary Connection,
Country Teasers,
Echospace,
The Smiths,
Lakeside,
Kas Product,
Steve Hackett,
Dual Sessions,
the Association,
Aswad,
Marshall Jefferson,
John Cale,
Desert Stars,
The Saints,
Japan,
Jawbox,
Ten City,
The Music Machine,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Kevin Saunderson,
Radio Birdman,
Barclay James Harvest,
Nik Kershaw,
China Crisis,
Bobby Sherman,
Graham Central Station,
Supertramp,
The Remains,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Make Up,
Traffic Nightmare,
Tears for Fears,
Unwound,
Index,
Roger Hodgson,
Pussy Galore,
Lee Hazlewood,
Sällskapet,
Con Funk Shun,
Subhumans, Subhumans, Subhumans, Subhumans.
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.