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 United States and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Josef K show in Edinburgh.
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 1960 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 Graham Central Station to the rap 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 Echo & the Bunnymen. All the underground hits.
All Accadde A tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Gladiators record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime 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 mellotron and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Boz Scaggs record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar 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?
Tim Buckley,
Bootsy Collins,
Hashim,
Yusef Lateef,
James White and The Blacks,
Pierre Henry,
The Move,
Theoretical Girls,
Youth Brigade,
Bob Dylan,
Lalann,
Camberwell Now,
Brothers Johnson,
Suicide,
The Gap Band,
The Pretty Things,
Pulsallama,
Kurtis Blow,
Oneida,
Curtis Mayfield,
T. Rex,
Hot Snakes,
Pole,
Crooked Eye,
Maurizio,
Johnny Osbourne,
Bobby Womack,
Glambeats Corp.,
DJ Sneak,
Lebanon Hanover,
Ludus,
The Kinks,
The Fall,
Lou Reed,
Khruangbin,
The Remains,
Monks,
The Grass Roots,
Yellowson,
Barbara Tucker,
Ultimate Spinach,
Johnny Clarke,
Unrelated Segments,
Slick Rick,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Bauhaus,
Traffic Nightmare,
Von Mondo,
Radiohead,
John Holt,
Marcia Griffiths,
Loose Ends,
Main Source,
Country Teasers,
Gerry Rafferty,
Aswad,
Desert Stars,
Simply Red,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
the Slits,
The Toasters,
Sex Pistols,
Bang On A Can, Bang On A Can, Bang On A Can, Bang On A Can.
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.