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 Moldova and from Hong Kong.
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 1969 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Salvador 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 synthesizer 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 Grauzone to the rock kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Lizzy Mercier Descloux. All the underground hits.
All Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Cybotron 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Teenage Jesus and the Jerks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ultravox,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Amon Düül,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Yaz,
Visage,
U.S. Maple,
Mandrill,
Loose Ends,
Nico,
Crispian St. Peters,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Camouflage,
Hoover,
The Modern Lovers,
Deakin,
Ponytail,
The Move,
Fugazi,
Monks,
Eurythmics,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Big Daddy Kane,
ABBA,
Barry Ungar,
Icehouse,
Pantaleimon,
Joe Smooth,
E-Dancer,
Warsaw,
Eli Mardock,
Spandau Ballet,
David Bowie,
Jimmy McGriff,
Neil Young,
David Axelrod,
Eric Dolphy,
Bauhaus,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Soft Cell,
Soul Sonic Force,
Dead Boys,
Soul II Soul,
The Beau Brummels,
Model 500,
LL Cool J,
Fear,
Pere Ubu,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Stockholm Monsters,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Cameo,
Michelle Simonal,
The Cosmic Jokers,
The Wake,
T.S.O.L.,
Das Ding,
The Slits,
Con Funk Shun,
The Alarm Clocks,
Pulsallama, Pulsallama, Pulsallama, Pulsallama.
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.