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 Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tokyo and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Dave Gahan to the rap kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Lucky Dragons. All the underground hits.
All Ultimate Spinach tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Television Personalities record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Joyce Sims record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Spandau Ballet,
Sex Pistols,
the Germs,
Main Source,
Harry Pussy,
Yellowson,
The Offenders,
Ronan,
Lightning Bolt,
The Gladiators,
Warsaw,
X-102,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Crash Course in Science,
Adolescents,
Cameo,
Eurythmics,
Slave,
X-Ray Spex,
Moebius,
Amazonics,
Eyeless In Gaza,
The Barracudas,
The Alarm Clocks,
Throbbing Gristle,
Joey Negro,
Essential Logic,
Max Romeo,
Roger Hodgson,
The Cosmic Jokers,
10cc,
Laurel Aitken,
Moss Icon,
The Electric Prunes,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
The Invisible,
Quantec,
Pharoah Sanders,
Junior Murvin,
Ohio Players,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Jacques Brel,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Terrestrial Tones,
The Stooges,
Ken Boothe,
Janne Schatter,
Gong,
The Seeds,
Drexciya,
Susan Cadogan,
Depeche Mode,
Brass Construction,
Kaleidoscope,
Livin' Joy,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
The United States of America,
F. McDonald,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Moby Grape,
LL Cool J, LL Cool J, LL Cool J, LL Cool J.
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.