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 Nauru and from Philadelphia.
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 1967 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the linndrum 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 Alice Coltrane to the rock kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Swans. All the underground hits.
All The Sonics tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Eurythmics record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Wolf Eyes,
F. McDonald,
the Soft Cell,
World's Most,
Joyce Sims,
Tommy Roe,
The Monks,
Oneida,
The Smoke,
Roxette,
Yusef Lateef,
Lower 48,
Ronnie Foster,
Deakin,
Gang Gang Dance,
Howard Jones,
Khruangbin,
Television,
Eric Copeland,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
The Electric Prunes,
The Gladiators,
Trumans Water,
Subhumans,
Mandrill,
The Five Americans,
Henry Cow,
The Velvet Underground,
The Dead C,
The Moody Blues,
Niagra,
Soft Machine,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Second Layer,
Deepchord,
The Sonics,
Robert Görl,
Flamin' Groovies,
Pole,
Lalo Schifrin,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Lee Hazlewood,
Judy Mowatt,
One Last Wish,
Brothers Johnson,
Drive Like Jehu,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Bootsy Collins,
Lou Reed,
Talk Talk,
Charles Mingus,
Kenny Larkin,
Kurtis Blow,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Joey Negro,
Aloha Tigers,
The Saints,
The Human League,
Q65,
Black Bananas,
New Order,
The Motions,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo, Kool G Rap & DJ Polo, Kool G Rap & DJ Polo, Kool G Rap & DJ Polo.
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.