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 Senegal and from Columbus.
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 1968 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 1971 at the first Big Star practice in a loft in Memphis.
I was working on the spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Henry Cow to the dance kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Monolake. All the underground hits.
All Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Los Fastidios record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Man Parrish record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Public Image Ltd.,
Henry Cow,
Goldenarms,
Nirvana,
June Days,
Porter Ricks,
John Lydon,
Q65,
The Blackbyrds,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Mantronix,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Loose Ends,
the Fania All-Stars,
Minnie Riperton,
Mary Jane Girls,
The Cowsills,
Black Pus,
The Real Kids,
Eden Ahbez,
Little Man,
Colin Newman,
The Monks,
Pantaleimon,
The Evens,
Piero Umiliani,
Quantec,
Isaac Hayes,
The Saints,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Flipper,
John Coltrane,
Lindisfarne,
Bush Tetras,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Kurtis Blow,
Brothers Johnson,
Mandrill,
Arcadia,
John Cale,
Nik Kershaw,
Curtis Mayfield,
Yusef Lateef,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
New York Dolls,
OOIOO,
Scan 7,
Eve St. Jones,
Jeff Mills,
The Standells,
Black Moon,
Mission of Burma,
Matthew Bourne,
Grauzone,
DJ Sneak,
Camouflage,
Yellowson,
Wings,
Das Ding,
Ken Boothe,
Magazine,
Inner City, Inner City, Inner City, Inner City.
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.