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 Iraq and from Manila.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South London.
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 Lyon and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 1976 at the first Soft Boys practice in a loft in Cambridge.
I was working on the snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Camberwell Now to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Real Kids. All the underground hits.
All The Neon Judgement tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Alton Ellis record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Fifty Foot Hose record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Country Joe & The Fish,
Traffic Nightmare,
Y Pants,
R.M.O.,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
MDC,
Letta Mbulu,
John Holt,
Oblivians,
Sun City Girls,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Lou Reed,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Theoretical Girls,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Frankie Knuckles,
Blossom Toes,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Jeru the Damaja,
Sonny Sharrock,
Section 25,
Archie Shepp,
Rekid,
Clear Light,
Ohio Players,
The Monochrome Set,
Public Image Ltd.,
The Seeds,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
Tommy Roe,
Rapeman,
Desert Stars,
Mary Jane Girls,
Marine Girls,
World's Most,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Jesper Dahlback,
Yaz,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Crime,
The Electric Prunes,
The Red Krayola,
The Black Dice,
The Raincoats,
Nico,
Ken Boothe,
Nik Kershaw,
The Star Department,
Crispy Ambulance,
June Days,
Roxy Music,
Agent Orange,
Soft Machine,
The Alarm Clocks,
Grauzone,
The Blues Magoos,
Nils Olav,
Monolake,
Althea and Donna,
The Selecter,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Fatback Band, Fatback Band, Fatback Band, Fatback Band.
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.