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 India and from Tehran.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Big Star show in Memphis.
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 1963 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Kerri Chandler to the grime kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Johnny Clarke. All the underground hits.
All Boredoms tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Basic Channel record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 808 and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pagans record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet 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 Men They Couldn't Hang,
The Residents,
The Detroit Cobras,
Crooked Eye,
Babytalk,
Depeche Mode,
The Five Americans,
Arthur Verocai,
The Leaves,
Nation of Ulysses,
Big Daddy Kane,
Metal Thangz,
Niagra,
Fatback Band,
Bob Dylan,
Vainqueur,
Eve St. Jones,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
The Blackbyrds,
the Fania All-Stars,
Trumans Water,
a-ha,
Von Mondo,
Ludus,
Scott Walker,
Soul Sonic Force,
CMW,
Soft Machine,
Lalann,
Public Image Ltd.,
Warsaw,
New Age Steppers,
Sonic Youth,
Essential Logic,
Faraquet,
Bang On A Can,
Gang Gang Dance,
The Names,
Gang of Four,
Amon Düül II,
L. Decosne,
Patti Smith,
The Electric Prunes,
The Mighty Diamonds,
The Gladiators,
Inner City,
Flamin' Groovies,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Dead Boys,
The Fugs,
Gerry Rafferty,
Chrome,
Black Bananas,
Radio Birdman,
The Fire Engines,
Jacques Brel,
Quando Quango,
the Bar-Kays,
Crispian St. Peters,
Matthew Halsall,
Visage,
Sight & Sound,
Marcia Griffiths,
Josef K,
Goldenarms, Goldenarms, Goldenarms, Goldenarms.
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.