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 Ethiopia and from Woodstock.
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 1969 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 mellotron 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 The Flesh Eaters to the rap 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 Fugazi. All the underground hits.
All Gregory Isaacs tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every T.S.O.L. record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Blossom Toes record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
R.M.O.,
Rufus Thomas,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Goldenarms,
Sparks,
Kenny Larkin,
Robert Wyatt,
Eve St. Jones,
Joe Smooth,
The Modern Lovers,
Nation of Ulysses,
Sex Pistols,
Country Teasers,
The Dirtbombs,
Lightning Bolt,
Drexciya,
Bob Dylan,
Warren Ellis,
Interpol,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Piero Umiliani,
Eric Copeland,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
The Black Dice,
Althea and Donna,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Jeru the Damaja,
The Cowsills,
Smog,
Delta 5,
Au Pairs,
Ornette Coleman,
Cameo,
Nas,
Jacob Miller,
Terrestrial Tones,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Q and Not U,
Ice-T,
Outsiders,
Lee Hazlewood,
Erasure,
Marine Girls,
Judy Mowatt,
Rapeman,
Urselle,
Spoonie Gee,
Arcadia,
Icehouse,
Jacques Brel,
LL Cool J,
Los Fastidios,
Ralphi Rosario,
Ituana,
Sixth Finger,
Angry Samoans,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Tom Boy,
Avey Tare,
The Invisible, The Invisible, The Invisible, The Invisible.
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.