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 San Marino and from Lagos.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle show in 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 1962 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Spokane and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 1967 at the first Rodriguez practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the güiro sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx to the electroclash kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Supertramp. All the underground hits.
All Soft Cell tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bronski Beat 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Prince Buster record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sexual Harrassment,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Average White Band,
Wally Richardson,
Hashim,
Letta Mbulu,
Organ,
Kaleidoscope,
Ohio Players,
8 Eyed Spy,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
The Fall,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Sonny Sharrock,
The Misunderstood,
Johnny Osbourne,
Henry Cow,
Dennis Brown,
Ultimate Spinach,
Maurizio,
Barry Ungar,
Black Sheep,
Section 25,
Rhythm & Sound,
Rapeman,
Second Layer,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Funkadelic,
The Martian,
Janne Schatter,
Michelle Simonal,
The Barracudas,
Sonic Youth,
The Skatalites,
Dorothy Ashby,
The Divine Comedy,
Idris Muhammad,
Agitation Free,
Donald Byrd,
The Moleskins,
Joe Finger,
Fear,
Whodini,
Bang On A Can,
Minutemen,
Grey Daturas,
Yaz,
Lucky Dragons,
OOIOO,
Eurythmics,
Subhumans,
Ultravox,
Danielle Patucci,
The Invisible,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Franke,
Sex Pistols,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Traffic Nightmare,
Scan 7,
Mantronix, Mantronix, Mantronix, Mantronix.
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.