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 Palau and from Accra.
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 1967 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 organ 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 Susan Cadogan to the rock 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 Mad Mike. All the underground hits.
All Monks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Radio Birdman 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Smoke record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Mr. Review,
Bobby Sherman,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Lee Hazlewood,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
The Modern Lovers,
The Young Rascals,
Drive Like Jehu,
The Star Department,
Kevin Saunderson,
The Sonics,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
Pussy Galore,
Talk Talk,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Warsaw,
Angry Samoans,
Wasted Youth,
Scion,
Lou Reed,
June of 44,
Grauzone,
Janne Schatter,
Deepchord,
Dorothy Ashby,
Joey Negro,
Black Bananas,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Fifty Foot Hose,
The Last Poets,
Lucky Dragons,
Mad Mike,
World's Most,
Matthew Halsall,
Pantaleimon,
China Crisis,
Graham Central Station,
Inner City,
Quantec,
The Real Kids,
Danielle Patucci,
Symarip,
Sex Pistols,
Marcia Griffiths,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Theoretical Girls,
Eve St. Jones,
Stockholm Monsters,
Mars,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
The Gladiators,
Susan Cadogan,
Liliput,
The Martian,
Idris Muhammad,
Supertramp,
Arab on Radar,
Spandau Ballet,
Hashim,
The Five Americans,
Juan Atkins,
KRS-One,
Freddie Wadling, Freddie Wadling, Freddie Wadling, Freddie Wadling.
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.