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 Rwanda and from Winnipeg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television show in New York.
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 1966 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Salvador.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bremen 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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the chamberlin 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 The Moleskins to the dance kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Be Bop Deluxe. All the underground hits.
All Matthew Halsall tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Black Flag 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Saints record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Curtis Mayfield,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Aloha Tigers,
Todd Terry,
Reagan Youth,
Boz Scaggs,
The Searchers,
Swans,
OOIOO,
Chris & Cosey,
Moebius,
Avey Tare,
Laurel Aitken,
Reuben Wilson,
Bush Tetras,
Sexual Harrassment,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Jeru the Damaja,
The Litter,
The Residents,
Barclay James Harvest,
The Motions,
The Names,
Throbbing Gristle,
FM Einheit,
Soul II Soul,
Tres Demented,
Alphaville,
Dual Sessions,
Erykah Badu,
The Blues Magoos,
Stiv Bators,
Tom Boy,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
a-ha,
JFA,
The Divine Comedy,
EPMD,
The Dirtbombs,
Blake Baxter,
Sunsets and Hearts,
The Walker Brothers,
Jandek,
Intrusion,
Nico,
The American Breed,
Lyres,
Ponytail,
The Martian,
Ken Boothe,
Dennis Brown,
Arab on Radar,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Jerry Gold Smith,
DJ Sneak,
Pagans,
Minor Threat,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Drexciya, Drexciya, Drexciya, Drexciya.
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.