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 Angola and from Tehran.
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 1968 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Calgary and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Arthur Verocai to the rap kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Throbbing Gristle. All the underground hits.
All The Young Rascals tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Sisters of Mercy 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gabor Szabo record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Smog,
Jimmy McGriff,
Bush Tetras,
Agitation Free,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Wings,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Crispian St. Peters,
The Victims,
Lungfish,
The Barracudas,
Idris Muhammad,
Robert Hood,
Crash Course in Science,
Byron Stingily,
Alton Ellis,
F. McDonald,
Ken Boothe,
The Remains,
Traffic Nightmare,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Cal Tjader,
MDC,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Bobby Womack,
Sandy B,
Frankie Knuckles,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
The Real Kids,
Loose Ends,
Khruangbin,
The J.B.'s,
Pylon,
Glambeats Corp.,
Bang On A Can,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Girls At Our Best!,
Blossom Toes,
June Days,
R.M.O.,
Oblivians,
John Holt,
Radiopuhelimet,
Prince Buster,
Flipper,
JFA,
Slave,
T.S.O.L.,
Masters at Work,
Desert Stars,
Easy Going,
Bobby Sherman,
The Zeros,
the Soft Cell,
Lindisfarne,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Rufus Thomas,
Average White Band,
Joy Division,
Clear Light, Clear Light, Clear Light, Clear Light.
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.