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 Vietnam and from Mumbai.
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 1961 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Seoul 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 1975 at the first Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 The Doobie Brothers to the dance 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 The Fortunes. All the underground hits.
All June of 44 tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Banda Bassotti 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Human League record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
It's A Beautiful Day,
Cymande,
James White and The Blacks,
Bobby Womack,
Buzzcocks,
Scratch Acid,
Public Image Ltd.,
Maurizio,
The Raincoats,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
John Lydon,
Tropical Tobacco,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
The Grass Roots,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Thee Headcoats,
Cameo,
ABC,
F. McDonald,
China Crisis,
Peter and Kerry,
Marmalade,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Pulsallama,
Kerri Chandler,
Wally Richardson,
Funky Four + One,
Television Personalities,
the Association,
Hoover,
Boz Scaggs,
Soft Machine,
a-ha,
David Bowie,
Fluxion,
Darondo,
Kayak,
Robert Wyatt,
Vladislav Delay,
PIL,
Dead Boys,
Fad Gadget,
the Germs,
Juan Atkins,
Nirvana,
Eurythmics,
Roy Ayers,
The Selecter,
Arab on Radar,
Deadbeat,
Sixth Finger,
Soulsonic Force,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Q and Not U,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Derrick Morgan,
Tommy Roe,
Fela Kuti,
Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols.
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.