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 Macedonia and from Accra.
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 1962 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manila and Tokyo.
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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Blancmange to the techno 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 Ornette Coleman. All the underground hits.
All KRS-One tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Slackers 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Dead C record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Mighty Diamonds,
The Searchers,
The Kinks,
Ten City,
Zapp,
Bobby Womack,
La Düsseldorf,
Jawbox,
Unrelated Segments,
The Doors,
Pole,
Japan,
Crash Course in Science,
Radio Birdman,
The Barracudas,
Big Daddy Kane,
the Slits,
Jimmy McGriff,
Sparks,
Average White Band,
Groovy Waters,
Robert Wyatt,
Marcia Griffiths,
Main Source,
Byron Stingily,
Lightning Bolt,
Thee Headcoats,
The Names,
Beasts of Bourbon,
the Soft Cell,
Hoover,
Wings,
The Dead C,
Gabor Szabo,
Boredoms,
Todd Rundgren,
Traffic Nightmare,
The Trojans,
Jeff Lynne,
Eddi Front,
Archie Shepp,
F. McDonald,
Brothers Johnson,
The Wake,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Crispian St. Peters,
Amazonics,
Kool Moe Dee,
Metal Thangz,
Susan Cadogan,
Crime,
Ludus,
The Skatalites,
The Knickerbockers,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Jesper Dahlback,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Desert Stars,
John Lydon,
The Music Machine,
Pylon,
48th St. Collective,
Junior Murvin, Junior Murvin, Junior Murvin, Junior Murvin.
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.