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 United Kingdom and from Hong Kong.
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 1969 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lille and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tokyo 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 1978 at the first Visage practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Knickerbockers 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 Pretty Things. All the underground hits.
All Idris Muhammad tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Freddie Wadling record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Bobby Hutcherson record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sällskapet,
The Dirtbombs,
the Bar-Kays,
Hoover,
The Searchers,
Gong,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Boogie Down Productions,
Flipper,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Fugazi,
The Count Five,
Brand Nubian,
Marcia Griffiths,
10cc,
Boz Scaggs,
The Slackers,
Faust,
The Happenings,
Danielle Patucci,
The Gladiators,
Reagan Youth,
the Fania All-Stars,
The Selecter,
The Litter,
Accadde A,
The Seeds,
Newcleus,
The Flesh Eaters,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Wire,
the Normal,
Livin' Joy,
Ludus,
This Heat,
Dawn Penn,
Lower 48,
Ornette Coleman,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Depeche Mode,
Pere Ubu,
Blancmange,
A Certain Ratio,
Letta Mbulu,
The Moleskins,
Chris & Cosey,
Popol Vuh,
Arthur Verocai,
Ken Boothe,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Arab on Radar,
Chrome,
FM Einheit,
Eric B and Rakim,
Wally Richardson,
Funkadelic,
Rufus Thomas,
Fluxion,
Dennis Brown,
Loose Ends, Loose Ends, Loose Ends, Loose Ends.
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.