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 Dominica and from Delhi.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lille and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 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 Gian Franco Pienzio to the punk kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Das Ding. All the underground hits.
All Zero Boys tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every the Fania All-Stars 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 sitar and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sixth Finger record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
The United States of America,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Magma,
Wire,
Arthur Verocai,
Barry Ungar,
Slave,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Johnny Clarke,
The Dirtbombs,
Spandau Ballet,
The Sisters of Mercy,
John Cale,
Terrestrial Tones,
Black Bananas,
The Monks,
These Immortal Souls,
Hoover,
Anthony Braxton,
Kurtis Blow,
Lucky Dragons,
Masters at Work,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Donald Byrd,
The Slits,
Jeff Lynne,
the Slits,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Little Man,
Cal Tjader,
Darondo,
Das Ding,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Steve Hackett,
UT,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
The Moleskins,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Todd Terry,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Laurel Aitken,
Youth Brigade,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
B.T. Express,
Gil Scott Heron,
Duran Duran,
PIL,
The Victims,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Sugar Minott,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Kas Product,
Hasil Adkins,
Angry Samoans,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Aaron Thompson,
ABC,
Tubeway Army,
The Pop Group,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Patti Smith, Patti Smith, Patti Smith, Patti Smith.
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.