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 Kosovo and from Glasgow.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Jakarta.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school London 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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the snare 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 Idris Muhammad to the jazz kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Jeru the Damaja. All the underground hits.
All Kerri Chandler tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Teenage Jesus and the Jerks 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Invisible record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Martian,
Quadrant,
The Fuzztones,
Erasure,
Harry Pussy,
The Invisible,
L. Decosne,
Severed Heads,
Monks,
Tres Demented,
The Buckinghams,
Pussy Galore,
Lower 48,
Sister Nancy,
The Fire Engines,
Piero Umiliani,
The Wake,
Lindisfarne,
The Durutti Column,
The Mummies,
The Cramps,
Iggy Pop,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Tom Boy,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Camberwell Now,
Arcadia,
Howard Jones,
Amazonics,
The Names,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
The Blues Magoos,
Lakeside,
Shuggie Otis,
Eyeless In Gaza,
The Misunderstood,
Kerri Chandler,
Niagra,
The Flesh Eaters,
A Certain Ratio,
Jacques Brel,
Moebius,
Tommy Roe,
Barbara Tucker,
Alice Coltrane,
Saccharine Trust,
Q and Not U,
The New Christs,
Spandau Ballet,
Rakim,
Camron Feat. Jay Z And Juelz,
Erykah Badu,
Matthew Halsall,
Swell Maps,
The Raincoats,
Livin' Joy,
Hardrive,
Pantytec,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Sixth Finger,
Joe Finger, Joe Finger, Joe Finger, Joe Finger.
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.