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 Mauritius and from Bologna.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the linndrum 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 Scott Walker + Sunn O))) to the grime 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 Derrick Morgan. All the underground hits.
All Lindisfarne tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sex Pistols record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
KRS-One,
Desert Stars,
Subhumans,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
La Düsseldorf,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Quando Quango,
The Leaves,
Mr. Review,
Nas,
Juan Atkins,
David McCallum,
the Soft Cell,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Arthur Verocai,
Curtis Mayfield,
Dual Sessions,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Sun City Girls,
Scott Walker,
The Standells,
Symarip,
Bizarre Inc.,
Loose Ends,
Pulsallama,
Camouflage,
The Monks,
Ice-T,
the Human League,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Little Man,
Kevin Saunderson,
OOIOO,
Icehouse,
Black Flag,
Duran Duran,
Hashim,
Supertramp,
The Smoke,
Suicide,
Reagan Youth,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Grey Daturas,
Yellowson,
X-101,
Accadde A,
Gong,
Skriet,
This Heat,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Lou Christie,
Underground Resistance,
F. McDonald,
B.T. Express,
Derrick May,
John Holt,
Swell Maps,
Moebius,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
The Selecter,
Graham Central Station,
Flipper, Flipper, Flipper, Flipper.
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.