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 Korea South and from Bremen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1984.
I was there at the first Arcadia show in London.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Jakarta 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 chamberlin 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 Pere Ubu to the techno kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 The Dead C. All the underground hits.
All The Walker Brothers tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Red Lorry Yellow Lorry record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Steve Hackett record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Saints,
R.M.O.,
Angry Samoans,
The New Christs,
Aloha Tigers,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
AZ,
Matthew Halsall,
Bill Wells,
Rakim,
Panda Bear,
The Gun Club,
The Zeros,
Aural Exciters,
the Fania All-Stars,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
The Victims,
Audionom,
Drive Like Jehu,
Crooked Eye,
Reagan Youth,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
The Young Rascals,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Derrick May,
Bad Manners,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
UT,
Sexual Harrassment,
David McCallum,
The Mummies,
Liliput,
Leonard Cohen,
H. Thieme,
Ultra Naté,
U.S. Maple,
Depeche Mode,
Jeff Lynne,
Delon & Dalcan,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Althea and Donna,
Banda Bassotti,
Faraquet,
Symarip,
Lindisfarne,
Boz Scaggs,
Slick Rick,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Letta Mbulu,
Groovy Waters,
The Sound,
Dark Day,
Sparks,
Howard Jones,
Bobby Sherman,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Archie Shepp,
The Dead C,
Lyres,
June of 44,
The Pretty Things, The Pretty Things, The Pretty Things, The Pretty Things.
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.