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 St Lucia and from Spokane.
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 1960 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 808 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 Altered Images to the grime kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Inner City. All the underground hits.
All DNA tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Lou Christie 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The American Breed record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Red Krayola,
Country Teasers,
B.T. Express,
The Mojo Men,
Spandau Ballet,
Nik Kershaw,
Sandy B,
Kerrie Biddell,
Boogie Down Productions,
The Dirtbombs,
The Sound,
The New Christs,
Talk Talk,
Susan Cadogan,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Skaos,
Kenny Larkin,
Infiniti,
The Martian,
Blake Baxter,
Tommy Roe,
Man Parrish,
Essential Logic,
Sexual Harrassment,
Boz Scaggs,
Marshall Jefferson,
L. Decosne,
The Busters,
James Chance & The Contortions,
David McCallum,
Steve Hackett,
Smog,
Symarip,
The Fall,
Index,
Barbara Tucker,
Excepter,
Young Marble Giants,
One Last Wish,
Inner City,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Suicide,
Whodini,
Television,
The Fire Engines,
Suburban Knight,
Jeru the Damaja,
Pharoah Sanders,
Jeff Mills,
Yusef Lateef,
Magazine,
Mark Hollis,
This Heat,
Q and Not U,
Kool Moe Dee,
Oneida,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Sun Ra,
The Walker Brothers,
Big Daddy Kane,
the Bar-Kays,
Minnie Riperton,
The Velvet Underground, The Velvet Underground, The Velvet Underground, The Velvet Underground.
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.