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 Slovakia and from Bremen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1965.
I was there at the first Beefheart show in Lancaster.
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 1962 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Tokyo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish to the techno kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 John Holt. All the underground hits.
All Ultravox tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Graham Central Station record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime 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 clarinet and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Detroit Cobras record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Electric Prunes,
Rotary Connection,
Stockholm Monsters,
China Crisis,
Black Pus,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Bobby Womack,
Roger Hodgson,
Jacques Brel,
Bauhaus,
Slick Rick,
The Techniques,
Boredoms,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Sex Pistols,
X-102,
Thompson Twins,
Mandrill,
The Wake,
Deakin,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
L. Decosne,
Grandmaster Flash,
K-Klass,
Colin Newman,
Robert Hood,
Ornette Coleman,
Fort Wilson Riot,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
The Blues Magoos,
Susan Cadogan,
Crooked Eye,
the Germs,
Ken Boothe,
John Cale,
Simply Red,
Infiniti,
Bootsy Collins,
La Düsseldorf,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Pagans,
Sarah Menescal,
Crispian St. Peters,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Dual Sessions,
Los Fastidios,
This Heat,
The Raincoats,
The Martian,
Steve Hackett,
Gerry Rafferty,
Franke,
Flamin' Groovies,
The Gladiators,
The Remains,
Marvin Gaye,
Symarip,
Quando Quango,
Trumans Water,
Interpol,
F. McDonald, F. McDonald, F. McDonald, F. McDonald.
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.