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 Kenya and from Glasgow.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic 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 1965 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lagos 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 marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 The United States of America to the grime 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 Kings Of Tomorrow. All the underground hits.
All Jacob Miller tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Adolescents 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Funky Four + One record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Doors,
Cal Tjader,
Aaron Thompson,
Bobbi Humphrey,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Motorama,
The Walker Brothers,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Glenn Branca,
Bush Tetras,
Moss Icon,
Marvin Gaye,
Spoonie Gee,
UT,
The Dead C,
the Normal,
John Cale,
Hashim,
Interpol,
Minny Pops,
Gang of Four,
Ludus,
Livin' Joy,
Public Enemy,
Shoche,
Funkadelic,
Black Moon,
The Cramps,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Scratch Acid,
Pylon,
Dorothy Ashby,
the Germs,
John Foxx,
Popol Vuh,
Kas Product,
Hasil Adkins,
Fad Gadget,
Black Flag,
Soulsonic Force,
Harry Pussy,
China Crisis,
Joensuu 1685,
Sonny Sharrock,
Tom Boy,
The Zeros,
Lungfish,
The Happenings,
The Raincoats,
Junior Murvin,
The American Breed,
FM Einheit,
The Sonics,
DJ Style,
Barbara Tucker,
The Pop Group,
Brass Construction,
Sun Ra,
Toni Rubio,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Goldenarms,
Robert Görl, Robert Görl, Robert Görl, Robert Görl.
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.