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 Samoa 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 1962 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Halifax.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Yellowson to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 The Human League. All the underground hits.
All Warren Ellis tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Underground Resistance 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Matthew Bourne record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pierre Henry,
Sugar Minott,
Severed Heads,
In Retrospect,
John Holt,
Roger Hodgson,
Alice Coltrane,
Youth Brigade,
Maurizio,
The Gladiators,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Jacques Brel,
Ken Boothe,
Moebius,
Pulsallama,
Faraquet,
Bush Tetras,
The Walker Brothers,
Donny Hathaway,
Brand Nubian,
Soul II Soul,
Mantronix,
Boogie Down Productions,
Con Funk Shun,
E-Dancer,
The Trojans,
Sun City Girls,
Eve St. Jones,
Deepchord,
The Cosmic Jokers,
The Blues Magoos,
Soft Machine,
Yusef Lateef,
Wire,
the Sonics,
Underground Resistance,
Warsaw,
Gang Gang Dance,
Carl Craig,
Little Man,
Robert Wyatt,
Al Stewart,
John Coltrane,
Prince Buster,
David Bowie,
Dark Day,
Adolescents,
Gil Scott Heron,
8 Eyed Spy,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Skaos,
Ultra Naté,
The Index,
The Fire Engines,
Half Japanese,
Pere Ubu,
Von Mondo,
Japan,
MC5,
Public Enemy,
Delta 5,
Henry Cow,
Avey Tare,
The Seeds, The Seeds, The Seeds, The Seeds.
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.