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 Tanzania and from Paris.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television 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 1967 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Cairo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 Con Funk Shun to the techno 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 Gang Starr. All the underground hits.
All Theoretical Girls tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Move record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a K-Klass record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe 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 Move,
Crooked Eye,
Grauzone,
Tom Boy,
Bobby Womack,
John Lydon,
the Germs,
Mr. Review,
The Beau Brummels,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Steve Hackett,
Harpers Bizarre,
Rites of Spring,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
The Slits,
Erykah Badu,
Altered Images,
Ronnie Foster,
Franke,
Jesper Dahlback,
Zero Boys,
Neu!,
Stereo Dub,
Infiniti,
Leonard Cohen,
Lakeside,
Royal Trux,
ABBA,
Deepchord,
Heaven 17,
Grandmaster Flash,
The Young Rascals,
The Black Dice,
Lightning Bolt,
Minor Threat,
Goldenarms,
Tropical Tobacco,
Pantytec,
Sly & The Family Stone,
The United States of America,
Das Ding,
Skarface,
Fear,
The Dirtbombs,
Lalann,
Althea and Donna,
Graham Central Station,
Maurizio,
Yusef Lateef,
Gang Starr,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Marcia Griffiths,
Youth Brigade,
Man Eating Sloth,
Roxy Music,
Electric Prunes,
Fela Kuti,
Kurtis Blow,
The American Breed, The American Breed, The American Breed, The American Breed.
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.