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 San Marino and from Glasgow.
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 1962 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in New York and Tokyo.
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 chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Doobie Brothers to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Black Pus. All the underground hits.
All The Golliwogs tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 rhodes and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Eric B and Rakim record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Newcleus,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
The Sonics,
Technova,
Agent Orange,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Dawn Penn,
Peter and Kerry,
The Moody Blues,
Talk Talk,
David Axelrod,
The Index,
Ultravox,
John Holt,
Model 500,
Piero Umiliani,
Toni Rubio,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Marshall Jefferson,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Shoche,
Alphaville,
The Slits,
Sonny Sharrock,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
F. McDonald,
Johnny Osbourne,
Supertramp,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Radiohead,
Royal Trux,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Mr. Review,
The Pretty Things,
Yusef Lateef,
Cameo,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Joensuu 1685,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Amazonics,
Jeff Mills,
Wolf Eyes,
The Gories,
Ken Boothe,
Franke,
The Birthday Party,
Accadde A,
Delta 5,
Stockholm Monsters,
Man Eating Sloth,
DNA,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
The Divine Comedy,
Hot Snakes,
Big Daddy Kane,
Shuggie Otis,
Bobby Byrd,
Simply Red,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Deadbeat, Deadbeat, Deadbeat, Deadbeat.
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.