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 Poland and from Seoul.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Zapp show in Hamilton.
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 1967 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in New York and Salvador.
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 1984 at the first Arcadia practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the chamberlin 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 Fela Kuti to the rap 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 Men They Couldn't Hang. All the underground hits.
All Sexual Harrassment tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Soft Machine 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Crash Course in Science,
Mission of Burma,
PIL,
The Doors,
DJ Sneak,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Wasted Youth,
Boredoms,
Scratch Acid,
MC5,
Cal Tjader,
Roger Hodgson,
Bootsy Collins,
the Swans,
Minutemen,
Josef K,
Kas Product,
Jacques Brel,
Donald Byrd,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Young Marble Giants,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Scion,
The Standells,
Amon Düül,
ABC,
The Five Americans,
Gastr Del Sol,
Franke,
the Germs,
Boz Scaggs,
Television,
The Slackers,
Derrick May,
Alice Coltrane,
Tim Buckley,
Brass Construction,
OOIOO,
Bad Manners,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Nick Fraelich,
The Litter,
The Alarm Clocks,
Erykah Badu,
The Gladiators,
Hardrive,
Vainqueur,
Graham Central Station,
Pulsallama,
Deakin,
Interpol,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Harmonia,
Archie Shepp,
Audionom,
Dawn Penn,
Camouflage,
Kaleidoscope,
The Misunderstood,
The Searchers,
The Index,
Marc Almond, Marc Almond, Marc Almond, Marc Almond.
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.