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 Zimbabwe and from Bologna.
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 1964 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Halifax 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 synthesizer 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 Young Marble Giants to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Rhythm & Sound. All the underground hits.
All Letta Mbulu tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Chrome record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz 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 a linndrum and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Walker Brothers record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Blues Magoos,
Dark Day,
Moss Icon,
Sex Pistols,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Delon & Dalcan,
F. McDonald,
Gong,
Soul Sonic Force,
Au Pairs,
Reagan Youth,
Saccharine Trust,
Loose Ends,
The Music Machine,
Essential Logic,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Urselle,
The Monks,
X-Ray Spex,
Fugazi,
Tommy Roe,
Soft Machine,
Agent Orange,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Roxy Music,
Make Up,
Eric B and Rakim,
The Angels of Light,
Ken Boothe,
Metal Thangz,
Barbara Tucker,
Scratch Acid,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Radio Birdman,
Sexual Harrassment,
Cecil Taylor,
Lungfish,
Quantec,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Black Flag,
Tres Demented,
Von Mondo,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Drive Like Jehu,
Black Moon,
The Monochrome Set,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Echospace,
The J.B.'s,
Vainqueur,
Jeru the Damaja,
The New Christs,
The Names,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Television,
The Pretty Things,
Jandek,
Jacob Miller, Jacob Miller, Jacob Miller, Jacob Miller.
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.