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 Trinidad & Tobago and from Salvador.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Houston.
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 theremin 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 Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog to the techno 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 DJ Sneak. All the underground hits.
All Fifty Foot Hose tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Black Bananas record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge 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 snare and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gastr Del Sol record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Oneida,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Rosa Yemen,
Can,
Matthew Halsall,
Henry Cow,
Q and Not U,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Bobby Sherman,
Inner City,
Nation of Ulysses,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Bobby Womack,
La Düsseldorf,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Sex Pistols,
Dead Boys,
The Mummies,
The Gladiators,
Tres Demented,
Jandek,
Franke,
the Human League,
The Durutti Column,
The Motions,
Oblivians,
Fluxion,
Anakelly,
Bootsy Collins,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Joy Division,
The Victims,
Terry Callier,
Soul Sonic Force,
June Days,
Roger Hodgson,
The Stooges,
Skriet,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
The Cowsills,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Rakim,
Heaven 17,
Graham Central Station,
Ralphi Rosario,
Rod Modell,
the Association,
Tropical Tobacco,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Susan Cadogan,
Ornette Coleman,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Michelle Simonal,
The Electric Prunes,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Drexciya,
Royal Trux, Royal Trux, Royal Trux, Royal Trux.
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.