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 Kuwait and from Hong Kong.
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 1962 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Halifax and Halifax.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 Josef K practice in a loft in Edinburgh.
I was working on the marimba 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 Al Stewart to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Manfred Mann's Earth Band. All the underground hits.
All Sexual Harrassment tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Last Poets 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Strawberry Alarm Clock record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Wasted Youth,
Alphaville,
Brothers Johnson,
Das Ding,
Radio Birdman,
Q and Not U,
Mandrill,
Yusef Lateef,
Gong,
Barrington Levy,
Soft Cell,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
The Techniques,
Mad Mike,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Susan Cadogan,
Suicide,
Ice-T,
Wolf Eyes,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Gastr Del Sol,
Television,
Letta Mbulu,
June Days,
Mission of Burma,
Depeche Mode,
Magma,
The Seeds,
John Coltrane,
Popol Vuh,
KRS-One,
Slick Rick,
the Swans,
Cal Tjader,
Scan 7,
Babytalk,
Moby Grape,
The Fire Engines,
E-Dancer,
Man Parrish,
Eddi Front,
Delta 5,
Black Bananas,
Junior Murvin,
Ornette Coleman,
Audionom,
Spandau Ballet,
Newcleus,
Sun City Girls,
Sexual Harrassment,
MDC,
Public Enemy,
Dorothy Ashby,
Unrelated Segments,
Warsaw,
Parry Music,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Sister Nancy,
Franke,
Surgeon, Surgeon, Surgeon, Surgeon.
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.