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 Ecuador and from Glasgow.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide 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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mumbai 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 guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Cal Tjader 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 Inner City. All the underground hits.
All Agent Orange tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Banda Bassotti record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Camouflage,
R.M.O.,
Drive Like Jehu,
Barclay James Harvest,
Bill Wells,
ABC,
Radio Birdman,
Groovy Waters,
Patti Smith,
Kaleidoscope,
Pussy Galore,
Hashim,
Ultimate Spinach,
Sparks,
Lucky Dragons,
the Swans,
Rod Modell,
Fad Gadget,
Neu!,
Drexciya,
The Tremeloes,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Brass Construction,
The Monochrome Set,
Pere Ubu,
The Happenings,
Cheater Slicks,
8 Eyed Spy,
Lower 48,
A Certain Ratio,
Banda Bassotti,
Quadrant,
Half Japanese,
Youth Brigade,
Crispy Ambulance,
Terrestrial Tones,
Oblivians,
Whodini,
Marvin Gaye,
Nik Kershaw,
Cal Tjader,
Deadbeat,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Junior Murvin,
Joey Negro,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
DJ Sneak,
Dark Day,
MDC,
The Electric Prunes,
Boz Scaggs,
The Human League,
The Knickerbockers,
Maleditus Sound,
The Offenders,
Jeff Mills,
Tears for Fears,
Pierre Henry,
Qualms,
Radiopuhelimet,
The Dead C,
The Searchers,
Avey Tare,
Sugar Minott, Sugar Minott, Sugar Minott, Sugar Minott.
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.