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 Zimbabwe and from Accra.
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 1964 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Toronto.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 1984 at the first Arcadia practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the spring reverb 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 The Alarm Clocks to the rap kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Neil Young. All the underground hits.
All Matthew Bourne tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Cybotron record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s 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 F. McDonald record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Names,
Technova,
Maurizio,
Man Eating Sloth,
Jeru the Damaja,
Avey Tare,
Thompson Twins,
The Moody Blues,
Desert Stars,
The J.B.'s,
The Buckinghams,
Silicon Teens,
Throbbing Gristle,
Grandmaster Flash,
Idris Muhammad,
Matthew Bourne,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Surgeon,
Das Ding,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
The Stooges,
Sun Ra,
Mo-Dettes,
A Certain Ratio,
The Knickerbockers,
Terry Callier,
Moby Grape,
LL Cool J,
Letta Mbulu,
Wolf Eyes,
Sandy B,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Girls At Our Best!,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Gastr Del Sol,
The Fall,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Gang of Four,
The Cowsills,
These Immortal Souls,
Boredoms,
Ralphi Rosario,
Joy Division,
Vladislav Delay,
Gregory Isaacs,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Quantec,
Junior Murvin,
Iggy Pop,
Yazoo,
Jawbox,
Cymande,
Don Cherry,
Lucky Dragons,
Al Stewart,
The Electric Prunes,
Basic Channel,
Model 500,
Bauhaus,
UT,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Dawn Penn, Dawn Penn, Dawn Penn, Dawn Penn.
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.