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 Panama and from Toronto.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Feelies show in Haledon.
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 1965 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Hong Kong.
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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the snare 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 Pulsallama to the funk 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 June of 44. All the underground hits.
All It's A Beautiful Day tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Los Fastidios record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco 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 sitar and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Barclay James Harvest,
Black Moon,
Jawbox,
Rakim,
Blancmange,
The Index,
Severed Heads,
Parry Music,
Sixth Finger,
Icehouse,
Dawn Penn,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Crime,
Jeff Lynne,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
Tropical Tobacco,
Sparks,
Television Personalities,
Supertramp,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
T. Rex,
cv313,
Grandmaster Flash,
Frankie Knuckles,
R.M.O.,
James White and The Blacks,
The Pretty Things,
CMW,
Andrew Hill,
the Slits,
The Motions,
Hot Snakes,
Warren Ellis,
Gang of Four,
The Tremeloes,
Amon Düül,
The Kinks,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Minny Pops,
John Holt,
the Association,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Man Eating Sloth,
Au Pairs,
Nik Kershaw,
Carl Craig,
the Sonics,
Jeru the Damaja,
The Sisters of Mercy,
The Wake,
The Five Americans,
Vainqueur,
Bronski Beat,
Wings,
The Residents,
Crooked Eye,
Max Romeo,
The Smiths,
Depeche Mode,
Rufus Thomas,
Aloha Tigers,
Young Marble Giants, Young Marble Giants, Young Marble Giants, Young Marble Giants.
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.