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 Guyana and from Madrid.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1964 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Calgary.
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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Cecil Taylor to the rock 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 Sister Nancy. All the underground hits.
All Mandrill tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Busters record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Vaughan Mason & Crew record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Terrestrial Tones,
Pole,
Y Pants,
Chris Corsano,
Eric B and Rakim,
The Fall,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Amon Düül II,
Young Marble Giants,
The Slackers,
Gang of Four,
Cecil Taylor,
The Neon Judgement,
Joyce Sims,
Magazine,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Sun Ra,
Accadde A,
Eve St. Jones,
Kool Moe Dee,
Junior Murvin,
Funky Four + One,
Pere Ubu,
Eli Mardock,
Jeff Mills,
Erasure,
The Monks,
Make Up,
Fear,
The Barracudas,
Suicide,
Quantec,
Toni Rubio,
Steve Hackett,
Chris & Cosey,
Bobby Sherman,
Buzzcocks,
Gerry Rafferty,
Lungfish,
John Foxx,
The Blackbyrds,
Eurythmics,
Spandau Ballet,
Symarip,
In Retrospect,
The Blues Magoos,
Avey Tare,
48th St. Collective,
Peter & Gordon,
Grandmaster Flash,
Outsiders,
Procol Harum,
The Invisible,
Lalann,
Letta Mbulu,
Kurtis Blow,
Matthew Bourne,
The Real Kids,
Donny Hathaway, Donny Hathaway, Donny Hathaway, Donny Hathaway.
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.