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 Cape Verde and from Taipei.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 Madrid and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Hong Kong 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 mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Jacob Miller to the crunk kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Ajijia Myrayebe. All the underground hits.
All Marshall Jefferson tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Patti Smith record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash 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 a clarinet and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Freddie Wadling record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pussy Galore,
10cc,
Loose Ends,
David McCallum,
Television Personalities,
Dual Sessions,
Jimmy McGriff,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Prince Buster,
The Blackbyrds,
Outsiders,
Cluster,
Make Up,
Glambeats Corp.,
Bobbi Humphrey,
The Techniques,
Black Bananas,
Joy Division,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
The Cure,
Kerri Chandler,
The Blues Magoos,
Frankie Knuckles,
Judy Mowatt,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Josef K,
Con Funk Shun,
Metal Thangz,
Ituana,
Bad Manners,
Mr. Review,
Sun Ra,
R.M.O.,
The J.B.'s,
Sparks,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Gabor Szabo,
Can,
Hasil Adkins,
Aaron Thompson,
Liliput,
Charles Mingus,
Bob Dylan,
Rod Modell,
Sun City Girls,
Pet Shop Boys,
Amazonics,
The Knickerbockers,
Brick,
Gang of Four,
Harry Pussy,
Theoretical Girls,
Panda Bear,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Banda Bassotti,
Lalann,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
the Swans,
Swans,
Kings Of Tomorrow, Kings Of Tomorrow, Kings Of Tomorrow, Kings Of Tomorrow.
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.