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 Tanzania and from Stockholm.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 1963 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 sitar 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 Metal Thangz to the funk kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Duran Duran. All the underground hits.
All Drive Like Jehu tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a T. Rex record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ten City,
Black Pus,
The Index,
The American Breed,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Crash Course in Science,
Moss Icon,
The Smiths,
Wolf Eyes,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Soul II Soul,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Icehouse,
Ponytail,
The Black Dice,
Smog,
Marshall Jefferson,
Bang On A Can,
Graham Central Station,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Aaron Thompson,
The Sound,
The Busters,
Peter and Kerry,
Deadbeat,
Sparks,
Reuben Wilson,
Second Layer,
The Names,
Alice Coltrane,
The Fortunes,
Fifty Foot Hose,
The Motions,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Ludus,
China Crisis,
The Fuzztones,
Nils Olav,
Michelle Simonal,
This Heat,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Max Romeo,
Dark Day,
Jacob Miller,
The Music Machine,
Joyce Sims,
Essential Logic,
Funkadelic,
Beasts of Bourbon,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Quando Quango,
The Durutti Column,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
The Real Kids,
Livin' Joy,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family, Angels of Light & Akron/Family, Angels of Light & Akron/Family, Angels of Light & Akron/Family.
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.