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 Sao Paulo.
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 1967 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Columbus 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 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 Brothers Johnson to the funk 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 FM Einheit. All the underground hits.
All James Chance & The Contortions tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Suburban Knight record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Radio Birdman record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Livin' Joy,
Tres Demented,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Unwound,
The Buckinghams,
Interpol,
The Fuzztones,
Delon & Dalcan,
the Normal,
Mo-Dettes,
Black Sheep,
Deadbeat,
David Axelrod,
Gerry Rafferty,
The Index,
Marcia Griffiths,
Porter Ricks,
The Fortunes,
Spoonie Gee,
Loose Ends,
Joe Finger,
Lalo Schifrin,
Fela Kuti,
OOIOO,
The Toasters,
Eric B and Rakim,
Scrapy,
Jacob Miller,
Dark Day,
Lee Hazlewood,
The Raincoats,
H. Thieme,
Bizarre Inc.,
Bobbi Humphrey,
The Blues Magoos,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Fatback Band,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Wolf Eyes,
Danielle Patucci,
The Five Americans,
Stiv Bators,
Connie Case,
The Skatalites,
The Angels of Light,
The American Breed,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Underground Resistance,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Roxy Music,
Minor Threat,
Ituana,
Donny Hathaway,
Outsiders,
Andrew Hill,
Visage,
Q and Not U,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish, Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish, Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish, Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish.
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.