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 Nicaragua and from Edmonton.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1960 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Woodstock.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 güiro 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 Chrome to the crunk 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 The Fortunes. All the underground hits.
All Rod Modell tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Robert Wyatt record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Brand Nubian,
Bush Tetras,
F. McDonald,
These Immortal Souls,
Gil Scott Heron,
Josef K,
One Last Wish,
Bobby Byrd,
Boogie Down Productions,
The Victims,
Scrapy,
Rites of Spring,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Harry Pussy,
8 Eyed Spy,
Organ,
The Kinks,
Gang Gang Dance,
Brick,
Skarface,
Au Pairs,
The Buckinghams,
Mo-Dettes,
Angry Samoans,
Andrew Hill,
Yaz,
T. Rex,
Bobby Sherman,
Connie Case,
Television Personalities,
Faraquet,
Byron Stingily,
Kool Moe Dee,
Country Teasers,
New Order,
Bootsy Collins,
Sparks,
Dorothy Ashby,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Henry Cow,
The Grass Roots,
Suburban Knight,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Chris Corsano,
Marcia Griffiths,
The Modern Lovers,
The Real Kids,
Ohio Players,
Ken Boothe,
Khruangbin,
Black Pus,
Jacob Miller,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Nico,
Symarip,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
The Zeros,
Kas Product,
Young Marble Giants,
Eddi Front,
Jimmy McGriff,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Eli Mardock,
Ossler, Ossler, Ossler, Ossler.
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.