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 Lesotho and from Tehran.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Josef K show in Edinburgh.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Manchester.
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 1984 at the first Arcadia practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Steve Hackett to the grunge 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 Dave Clark Five. All the underground hits.
All Man Parrish tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Ronnie Foster 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Outsiders record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Man Eating Sloth,
Angry Samoans,
The Pretty Things,
Grauzone,
Wolf Eyes,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Lungfish,
Index,
Mandrill,
Boz Scaggs,
Eddi Front,
Yusef Lateef,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Warren Ellis,
Eurythmics,
Sällskapet,
Agent Orange,
Nils Olav,
Toni Rubio,
Piero Umiliani,
The Gladiators,
Eve St. Jones,
Joy Division,
Harry Pussy,
Mad Mike,
EPMD,
Sixth Finger,
Hasil Adkins,
Swell Maps,
Electric Prunes,
Arab on Radar,
The Knickerbockers,
X-101,
The Electric Prunes,
Traffic Nightmare,
Pantaleimon,
Boredoms,
The Dirtbombs,
John Coltrane,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
This Heat,
Livin' Joy,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
The Doobie Brothers,
Delon & Dalcan,
The Angels of Light,
Cal Tjader,
Roxy Music,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Ponytail,
Stiv Bators,
Kenny Larkin,
Television,
Pagans,
The Gun Club,
Shuggie Otis,
Soulsonic Force,
Skriet,
The Fuzztones,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs, Notorious Big And Bone Thugs, Notorious Big And Bone Thugs, Notorious Big And Bone Thugs.
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.