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 Tunisia and from Bremen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 mellotron 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 Susan Cadogan to the jazz 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 Roy Ayers. All the underground hits.
All Siglo XX tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every the Soft Cell record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Angels of Light record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Slackers,
Warsaw,
Oblivians,
Crooked Eye,
Altered Images,
Bluetip,
Matthew Bourne,
The Monochrome Set,
Hot Snakes,
Young Marble Giants,
Icehouse,
DNA,
Electric Prunes,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Steve Hackett,
Tears for Fears,
Gang Starr,
Gerry Rafferty,
PIL,
the Germs,
Camouflage,
Mad Mike,
Tom Boy,
These Immortal Souls,
the Fania All-Stars,
the Sonics,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Excepter,
Roxette,
Lalann,
Hoover,
Brothers Johnson,
Malaria!,
The Offenders,
Moby Grape,
Darondo,
The Detroit Cobras,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
The Last Poets,
Rufus Thomas,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
The Saints,
Peter & Gordon,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Average White Band,
Model 500,
The Kinks,
The Durutti Column,
X-Ray Spex,
Byron Stingily,
Reagan Youth,
The New Christs,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Interpol,
the Slits,
JFA,
E-Dancer,
Jeru the Damaja,
Curtis Mayfield, Curtis Mayfield, Curtis Mayfield, Curtis Mayfield.
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.