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 Suriname and from Stockholm.
But I was there.
I was there in 1970.
I was there at the first Onyeabor show in Enugu.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 1983 at the first Bronski Beat practice in a loft in Brixton.
I was working on the güiro sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Cymande to the rap kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Index. All the underground hits.
All The Leaves tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Blues Magoos record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime 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 mellotron and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a T.S.O.L. record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Roger Hodgson,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Buzzcocks,
Robert Hood,
The Sound,
New York Dolls,
Drexciya,
DJ Style,
Marine Girls,
Bluetip,
Althea and Donna,
The Move,
Stetsasonic,
Model 500,
ABC,
Roy Ayers,
Babytalk,
Cluster,
Graham Central Station,
Gang Gang Dance,
Procol Harum,
Fatback Band,
The New Christs,
Slave,
Bronski Beat,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
E-Dancer,
Main Source,
Sparks,
Cybotron,
London Community Gospel Choir,
The Misunderstood,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Agent Orange,
Tropical Tobacco,
The Birthday Party,
Accadde A,
John Cale,
Flash Fearless,
Crispy Ambulance,
The Standells,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Moss Icon,
48th St. Collective,
Laurel Aitken,
Black Bananas,
Eric Dolphy,
Lucky Dragons,
the Association,
Monolake,
Al Stewart,
Delon & Dalcan,
Lou Christie,
Organ,
Cecil Taylor,
Pharoah Sanders,
Anthony Braxton,
Amon Düül II,
Yusef Lateef,
Traffic Nightmare,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Easy Going, Easy Going, Easy Going, Easy Going.
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.